Voyage dans la Lumiére or Journey into the Light
by DarkestDreams
Summary: Erik is a man of limitless potential that is unfortunately never realized. That is Erik's true tragedy: what could have been? How would he change if his tragic circumstances were altered? Could the damage done in the past be undone? EC COMPLETE
1. Secrets

Hello fellow Phantom fans! This is my second attempt at a phanfic - much longer and more detailed than my first. This story is based primarily on the 2004 movie, but you may notice a couple of Leroux references here and there. Please read and respond, but once again, no flames please. This is my baby, so please be kind. Also, remember that the first chapters are laying the groundwork for what is to come. There is a lot of Christine to start, but gradually more and more Erik. In fact, the second half of the story is almost entirely Erik, so don't give up. I love him far too much to abandon him for long. Anyway, without giving up too much of the surprises to come, please keep reading beyond the first chapters. The thick of the action is in the middle – lots of twists and turns for our star-crossed lovers. There is a tiny bit of R/C and a little E/OW, but I am a fervent E/C shipper, so know that in the end "all will be made right".

By word of explanation for the events to come, I have always viewed Erik as a tragic character, full of unlimited potential that is sadly never realized. My premise for this story is the question of what he could become if the sad circumstances of his life were altered. To me, Erik's true tragedy is what could have been. How would he change if his tragic circumstances changed? Could the damage done in the past be undone? You will understand by the end.

Our story begins on the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, and the fateful events beneath the Opera Populaire. (PS – Pretend the whole graveyard scene at the end never happened.) This story starts right after Christine sails off with Raoul and the Phantom escapes through the mirror.

Also, I pushed the timeline of the movie events back to 1869 instead of 1870. There is apparently this big controversy because the movie is set mainly in 1870, but that would have placed its events during the end of the Franco-German war and the siege of Paris by the Commune. Anyway, I moved the timeline back to make it more historically plausible and also because the war fits nicely into my storyline following the opera fire. You will understand later...Bwoohoohahaha! (Laughs mysteriously)

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own the rights to any of the Phantom characters. The quoted lyrics to the songs "Think of Me" and "Point of No Return by Andrew Lloyd Webber are the inspired work of Mr. Charles Hart. Any other lyrics are my own.

Voyage dans la Lumiére (Journey into the Light)

1. Secrets

Christine stared unseeing out the carriage window. Her mind was a jumble of emotions, each playing to her heart in turn, then coursing through her veins to assail her thoughts once more. She leaned her head back against the elegant leather of the carriage seat and closed her eyes. Her exhaustion was nearly unbearable. She shook with cold and her limbs ached, cramping with the chill of night and the long ride. Underneath her heavy cloak, her clothing was still damp from all that had transpired mere hours before.

She lifted her head and looked down at the fine white that peeked out from beneath the hem of her cloak. The dress she was wearing, once a lovely vision of white silks and lace was stained and torn – ruined. That was how she herself felt at this very moment. Her eyes flooded with tears and her small frame began to rack with sobs.

She cried at last for everything – for the loss of her father and of her dream, for the beloved illusions that had been shattered, for the deceit and the death she had witnessed, for her own unforgivable betrayal, for the love she had gained...and the one she had lost. She poured it all into her tears, willing these terrible demons to be washed away and plague her no more.

As her sobs subsided, she felt the carriage slow and finally draw to a halt before the familiar manor. She wiped her eyes hurriedly on her cloak as the door opened. Raoul's hand reached for hers and he sought her eyes, but seemed to sense that she was not yet ready to share her grief. Christine gave him a weak smile as he helped her from the carriage. It was the least she could offer him after all that he had done for her. He had risked his own life more than once for hers, even offering it in exchange for her freedom. She owed him so much, and yet at this moment she had nothing left to give.

Raoul held out his arm to steady her as they climbed the stone steps leading up to the grand front entrance. Before he could knock, the heavy mahogany door swung open, and Christine found herself wrapped in the comforting, motherly arms of her father's former benefactress.

"Hello, my dear. It is so good to see you. I have missed you," Madame Valerius said kindly. As she returned the embrace, Christine knew they had been right to come here. This would be a place where she could sort through all that had happened in the past months and attempt to regain the strength she would need to rebuild her life. As Madame Valerius drew back at last, her warm, friendly eyes sought Christine's. The pain in their youthful depths was glaringly obvious. Grasping Christine's small hands in her own she instructed, "A warm bath, I think, first of all, then a hot cup of tea and some dry clothes, and of course, a good night's sleep." Her voice was gentle, but firm, and her sympathetic, knowing smile seemed to say, _and we will sort the rest out later_. A young maid appeared to lead Christine upstairs to her suite. Christine smiled warmly in return, her eyes grateful for both the old woman's kindness and discretion.

With Christine taken care of, the intelligent blue eyes turned to the exhausted young man, still standing on her doorstep. "Monsieur Vicomte, I thank you for all you have done to ensure Christine's safety. It was right of you to bring her here. Might I offer you in return the hospitality of my home for the remainder of the night?"

Raoul replied with a polite bow, "Thank you Madame, but that is not necessary. My family has a country home nearby, and it would perhaps be more appropriate for me to stay there for the time being until Christine is recovered. But I do ask permission of you to visit her often while she is here, and I entreat you to let me know at once if there is anything at all she requires."

He straightened to meet her kind, yet questioning gaze. In his eyes too she felt she saw something - a sadness, a regret...she knew not. As he turned to leave, her soft voice stopped him, "You truly love her. And yet there is more to the story, no? Ah well, good Vicomte, it need not all be sorted out this night. I will ask no more questions of either of you until you are ready." Raoul turned back slowly, but he did not deny her words. With another short bow, he hurried down the steps to the waiting carriage.

Madame Valerius watched his carriage disappear, and then gently closed the door. Her eyes traveled thoughtfully to the top of the stairs. _Whatever Christine's secrets, tonight they will remain her own._ She sighed, and stepped over to the elegant grand piano in the corner of the room, the lavender silk of her dress rustling softly with her movements. Her fingers paused for a moment to touch a small, silver-framed portrait that rested there. As if to the dark-eyed man in the frame, she whispered softly, "But those secrets that are most closely guarded are often the very ones that destroy us from within." Her bejeweled hand dropped to her side once more, and her gaze returned to the closed door of Christine's suite. This time, she spoke only to herself as she said aloud, "Tomorrow, after the body has been tended to, we will begin to work out the matters of the heart...before they become your undoing child." she said softly, "As they were mine."


	2. Broken

2. Broken

Once he was certain it was safe, Erik returned to survey his broken kingdom. The mob had been ruthless, destroying his meager possessions in the misplaced frustration of being unable to destroy the man himself. His music was scattered, some burned to ashes, some pieces floating in the murky waters of the lake. The organ had been smashed into oblivion, the swan bed overturned. His careful, reverent drawings of Christine were strewn across the floor, crumpled beneath the heavy boots of the blood-thirsty crowd.

It was fitting, he thought, this broken kingdom for a broken man. Prince of the Night he was no longer. He turned, seeing his reflection in the shards of a shattered mirror. The haunted image he saw reflected in the cruel honesty of the glass showed the bitter truth of what he was – a deformed old man, alone in the world, betrayed by all whom he had cared for. He was Christine's angel no longer, only a pitiful creature who in his madness had slipped into delusions of grandeur and love, but who had been awakened rudely to harsh reality at last.

_Christine_. He reached down to retrieve one of his sketches from the lake, even now holding it reverently in his hands. He touched the curve of her face in the sketch, the softness of her curls as if she was there standing next to him. His angel. She had shown him and the world, that night on the opera stage before the entire city of Paris. She had revealed him, playing on his desperate longings, when he had in his delusions believed it was he who was entrancing her. Singing to him her Siren's song, daring him to believe that his voice had truly kindled desire, even love in her angelic heart. Then she had ripped away his mask, in every sense, showing him in truth that her only desire was to be free of him once and for all, even if it meant his capture or death.

He dropped the picture back into the water, watching it sail away from him just as she had only the night before. He sat down on the shoreline staring at the water, vividly remembering her final act of cruelty - her kiss. She had used his love to bend him to her will, and then thrust it back at him like the unwanted gift it was. All to save her beloved vicomte with his perfect face and his fortune – everything including Christine handed to him on a silver platter by God himself, he thought bitterly.

Erik's face dropped into his hands, and hot tears of anguish began to flow through his long fingers. He remembered then the ring he still wore. That very ring she had taken and placed on her own hand in mock acceptance of his proposal. He knew not what her intention had been in returning it to him, for it was not his ring, but Raoul's engagement ring to her. Perhaps she had meant to torture him with the thought of her impending marriage, or more likely she had simply enjoyed the cruelty of thrusting it back into his hand to show him how laughable the idea of her choosing to stay with him had been.

He raised his dark head, his blue-gray eyes hardening to icy steel. It mattered not what her intention had been in giving it, it was the only gift from her he had, and it would serve him always as a valuable reminder of what he would never again presume to believe he deserved.

Erik straightened and walked back to what had formerly been his bedroom. He managed to find a trunk of clothing that had somehow remained unscathed during the sacking of his home. He washed and dressed impeccably, again sliding his dark wig into place and finding refuge behind his mask once more. He spent the remainder of the afternoon gathering what possessions he could find that would be of use to him and packing them in the trunk. By nightfall, as he turned to leave, he thought with a sad smile that he had almost erased any signs of his presence there. One could, in fact, have believed that the shadowed figure who had once dwelt there had truly been no more than a ghost. Erik turned and left. He did not look back again.


	3. A Warning

3. A Warning

Christine awoke to rays of golden sunshine spilling across her pillow and the cheerful sounds of birds singing in the gardens below. She raised her head slightly, remembering where she was, and then reached for the white satin robe hanging by the bed. She wrapped it securely around herself and stepped out onto her balcony, taking in the warmth of the spring breeze. Below her in the gardens, she could see Madame Valerius, resplendent this morning in an exquisite gown of the palest mauve, strolling leisurely among the rose bushes. Christine withdrew quickly back into her room, realizing she must have overslept. She dressed hurriedly, with the help of the young maid, and made her way downstairs and through the open French doors into the gardens.

"There you are, my dear. I've taken the liberty of having a late brunch prepared for us. I thought perhaps you might need your rest this morning." Madame Valerius' tone was kind, and held no trace of reproof for Christine's late arrival. She motioned for Christine to join her at the elegantly laid table. Christine smiled gratefully and seated herself, looking with interest at the fresh fruits and delicate pastries before her. She realized she was, in fact, extremely hungry.

"Help yourself, my darling, and then when you are finished, we will have a lovely stroll through the gardens. You see, of all the things I possess my gardens are my greatest pride and joy. I may not be able to make the music of heaven, which seemed to come so easily for you and your father, but I am apparently very gifted in the proper instruction of one's gardening staff." Madame Valerius gave Christine a warm smile, with a faint trace of self-mockery. She glanced with concern at the small amount of food on Christine's plate. "Come now, my child, you really must eat something. I cannot remember ever seeing you so thin and pale. We really must get you back in proper health."

Christine ate obligingly, enjoying the wonderful food and Madame Valerius's pleasant conversation. It was almost as if the past few years had never happened, and she was a little girl again enjoying a grown-up tea with the woman who had always been so kind to her and her father. As they began their walk, however, Christine's mind drifted back to the events of the past night. Her hostess continued her bright chatter, to which Christine nodded politely, but she found it difficult to still her disquieted mind. Sensing her restlessness, Madame Valerius guided her at last to a bench in the shade of a magnificently flowered cherry tree.

"Now, ma chère, we can talk about more important things." Her voice softened as she took Christine's hand in her own, "You are suffering, Christine. I can see it quite clearly. And the kind of pain I see in your eyes...there can be only one source of such pain, and that is love. Since it seems quite obvious that the young vicomte would gladly return your love if it was offered, it seems there must be more to the puzzle. Another man, no?"

Christine's eyes widened at the woman's perceptiveness, but with her secret revealed, her tightly-held composure broke free. She had never known her own mother, and this gentle woman was the closest thing she had ever had. Her tears flowed freely as she released her burden at last. Without reserve she told Madame Valerius of her Angel of Music, and of Raoul, of her betrayal, and the horrible night beneath the Opera Populaire.

With her shameful story told, Christine could not bring herself to meet the older woman's sympathetic eyes. "I am sure you must think me awful - an unimaginable fool, an ungrateful wretch, a seductress, a manipulator callously toying with the hearts of men. I have been all of those things. I cannot deny a single one. And yet in my defense, all of those things I was unknowingly. So perhaps of all my titles, 'fool' is the most deserved." She wrung her hands helplessly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

Madame Valerius gently took the girl's chin in her hand, and raised the fragile tear-stained face to meet her eyes. "My darling, you are none of those things. Your only sin is in perhaps not knowing your own heart. No, I do not blame you. I do, however, blame these two foolish young men who declare their undying love, and yet twist you into knots trying to please and protect them both."

She sighed, and in a softer tone continued, "I understand your position, perhaps better than I am at liberty to explain. And I can tell you this with certainty. Before you pledge your heart once and for all to either man, take the time to explore all that lies inside of it. If you do not, there will be nothing but more pain and suffering for all of you, no matter how noble your intentions." Tears welled in her brilliant blue eyes, and she hurriedly turned her face away.

Christine mentally scolded herself for upsetting her kind hostess, and hurried to put the older woman's mind at ease. "I apologize for my outburst, Madame Valerius. I really don't know what came over me. All has ended well. Raoul and I will be married soon and the Phantom has left our lives forever. There really is no choice to be made." Her voice sounded far more confident than she felt and she smiled bravely, but her brown eyes as always told the truth of her plight.

Madame Valerius turned to look once more at the confused, vulnerable young woman before her, trying so desperately to battle her own heart. Watching Christine in her anguish, she resolved that she would not allow this young lady to suffer as she herself had suffered. No, whatever the consequences, Christine Daae could not marry anyone until she herself knew what and who she truly wanted.

With only compassion in her eyes, she spoke again, "Christine, my dear, I say this not to chastise you, nor because I doubt your honor. But I do not believe you are being honest with me or with yourself. Until you truly allow yourself to recognize and accept your feelings for both of these men, even those feelings that are inconvenient or shameful to you, you will not be capable of truly making a choice, but only of giving your soul and mind to one man and your heart and body to the other. Not only will you succeed in ruining both of these men whom you care for, but you will bring upon your own soul a torture you could never have imagined." Though her tone was gentle, her eyes sought Christine's with an intensity, a seriousness, compelling her to heed the warning that she somehow knew would be disregarded.

With an overly bright smile she stood abruptly. "Come dear, the hour is growing late, and we will have more time to visit tomorrow. Let's go see how lunch is coming, shall we?" She reached for Christine's arm and tucked it gently under hers, as they walked back toward the house. "And by the way, do please call me Elsa. I grow so tired of hearing myself called 'Madame' all the time. It makes me sound the old widow I truly am!"

As they walked back into the house, Christine considered their conversation. In truth, she felt much better after having had the opportunity to talk freely about the trials of the last few months. However, she found Elsa's last words to be something of a puzzle to her. Somehow, this lonely widow seemed to know her position almost too well, and this fact both comforted and disconcerted her. She felt as if Elsa knew something of her own soul that she herself was not ready to reveal.


	4. Unspoken Regrets

**A/Ns: **romancebookworm4ever – Thank you for taking the time to review. In answer to your questions so far, I should perhaps explain that I tend to reveal things with little clues along the way, rather than stating them outright. Yes, Gustaave Daae is dead. If you read my author's notes at the beginning, this story takes place after the events beneath the Opera Populaire from the 2004 movie. It will become very obvious that he is so later in story. As for your comment about Chapter 2, I understand what you said about the ring, but remember that Erik is telling the reader in that chapter what he believed the ring to represent. He has only experienced rejection and cruelty before in his life and she just left him for another – most likely he would not see the ring as a token of affection in that context, although I do believe she meant it that way. Keep commenting, I enjoy it, but I hope there is an easier way to reply. I had to delete the chapter and then reload it with my reply. If you want to give me your email, I could respond more quickly. Yeah, you gotta love Erik and Elsa, and Christine will be much more loveable by the end of the story as well.

4. Unspoken Regrets

The days Christine spent at the Valerius manor passed quickly. Nearly six months had gone by since that fateful night beneath the Opera Populaire. And with each passing day, she grew fonder of Elsa, and sincerely began to look forward to their little chats in the garden. Since that first day, however, Elsa had not brought up the subject of Christine's divided heart, seeming content for now to allow her to broach it when she was ready.

Raoul made his visits every few days for tea. He and Christine would take a pleasant stroll together, and he would kiss her gently on the cheek before leaving. He had made no mention of any further wedding plans, and she mentally thanked him for his limitless patience with her. All in all, the days passed without incident in her new temporary home. But while the days at the Valerius manor were blissfully peaceful in their passing, the nights were not so.

For it was at night, that Christine felt that dull ache in her soul. She would spend hours on her balcony each evening, staring out into the night as if listening for something in the darkness. Elsa often saw her there when she took her evening walk through the gardens. Sometimes she would sit on the bench beneath the cherry tree and watch the tiny, lonely figure on the balcony. Christine never noticed her there. She seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. On some nights, like tonight, Elsa would hear her singing softly, whether to herself or someone else she could never tell, but it was always the same song. Always the same haunting melody, unlike any Elsa had ever heard in all her years as a patroness of the musical arts. And then there were the nightmares.

On the second night after Christine had arrived, they had begun. Elsa had walked to Christine's door, intending to check that her young guest had all that she needed, when she heard Christine sobbing and crying out in her sleep. Unwilling to eavesdrop, yet concerned, she had opened the door slightly and stepped inside. There she found Christine, curled into a ball on the bed, weeping bitterly with her head in her hands. When she had reached down to take the fragile girl into her arms, Christine had turned to her wild with agony, her voice nearly hysterical, "You didn't see his eyes. I betrayed him. He trusted me. He trusted me. And I betrayed him. Oh, the pain in those eyes. And I am to blame. He trusted me...He trusted me..."

Oh, how she had wept that night. Finally exhausted, she had fallen asleep in Elsa's arms. In the nights after, Elsa would pause at Christine's door before going to sleep herself, and on many occasions, would find herself soothing Christine back to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

Every morning, she waited for Christine to tell her about the nightmares, to explain about the evenings spent singing to herself on her balcony and staring out into the night. And every morning, Christine emerged with a tremulous smile and nothing but polite conversation to impart.

Elsa sighed. She knew she would not be able to convince the vicomte to wait much longer before speaking to Christine about the plans for their wedding. And she also knew that if anything, Christine's feelings for this other man, this Angel, ran even deeper than she had originally suspected. No, the marriage was sure to be a disaster if Christine could not recognize in the light of day the bond she shared with this other man. But how much she dared to push Christine, she did not know. The girl was still very fragile, both physically and emotionally. Though she was served the finest meals, she had failed to gain back the weight she had lost, and her color was still very pale. She cried easily, and seemed to become very distraught whenever she was left alone.

Elsa sighed again. _Ahh, Christine, ma chère, you must learn to become stronger in your own mind and heart before you are ready to pledge them to another_, she thought silently.


	5. Starting Over

Ch 5 – Starting Over

Erik stepped back to survey his work. The design was both inspired and flawless, as was all of his work in every endeavor he undertook, and yet still he paused to change one or two small details. Upon looking once more, he seemed satisfied, and then turned the plans so that the two well-dressed gentlemen on the other side of the table could see. These two impressive men would have seemed intimidating individuals to most people in their own right. Yet they waited with bated breath for some gesture of assent from the dark, mysterious man in front of them before presuming to look upon his work. With a nod of his dark head, they sprang forward like excited children, poring over the elaborate sketches.

After several moments of whispering back and forth, pointing to various aspects of the design, the taller of the two men, M. Montclair, stood up reaching out his hand, which Erik met with his own in a firm handshake. "Monsieur, your work is truly the work of a genius. I am honored that you have agreed to become part of our venture. My partner and I humbly offer to make you a full partner in our business, entitling you to one-third of all its profits. And I can assure you, monsieur, that with designs such as this, that will be a most satisfactory amount." The second partner, M. Lebaux, extended his hand as well, and after all the appropriate pleasantries had been exchanged, M. Montclair rolled the plans into a tight bundle, and tucked them safely under his arm. "Monsieur, before we take your leave, I would ask for the pleasure of your name, so that I might have the appropriate paperwork drawn up to formalize our agreement." M. Montclair looked somewhat apprehensive at this request, as if expecting the powerful, enigmatic man before him to be angered by his presumptuous inquiry. Erik, however, touched by the man's care not to upset him, simply replied quietly, "Erik. You may call me Monsieur Erik de Noir."

The sun was setting in layers of soft gold, magenta, and lavender over the delicate blue of the sea as Erik made his way home through the streets of Nice. It was strange, he mused, how he had grown accustomed to the light of day so quickly. Ironically, it had been Christine's betrayal which had propelled him from his comforting solitude and darkness into the world of society and daylight. He supposed he had that, at least, to thank her for. After she had revealed him and he had seen himself for what he had become, that place which had once been his sanctuary had seemed to him a prison in his pain. He had ventured forth from Paris the very next night, with the help of one or two trusted contacts he had made over the years. They were paid handsomely as always for their silence, and he had escaped from the city with little difficulty. He had then arranged to purchase a comfortable manor just outside of Nice in a secluded area with a breathtaking view of the sea. The city of Nice was far removed from the scandals of Paris, and too caught up in its own affairs to give much thought to the ghost stories of its rival. Here, even his masked countenance drew only the attention that any deformity of the human form might attract, and it was not long before Erik had become almost entirely comfortable walking down the street as any other citizen might.

In fact, Erik had to admit that in the absence of his former anti-social behavior, he had been accepted into society very easily, even with his curious appearance. And he had begun to wonder if perhaps his own insecurities and self pity had been his true prison and not the mask at all.

He stopped at the gate, and turned to watch the last glorious rays of sunlight dance across the water, remembering the events of the past year. After settling himself comfortably in his new home, he had turned to his long abandoned but undiminished skills as an architect, both as a means to secure a living and as a welcome distraction from the painful memories that plagued him. He had carefully watched the local newspaper for news of all proposed building projects until he had found one that suited his taste, and then he set to work. He was as much a perfectionist in his architecture as he was with his music, and the project consumed him for several weeks. Once satisfied, he sent the plans to the address listed in the article along with a return address where a reply could be sent. He waited only a matter of hours before he received his enthusiastic reply, and a meeting was arranged for the next day. With that, his career had resumed on an enormous scale.

Erik finally turned and entered the gate. He walked up the steps and through the door of his home, still lost in his thoughts as he hung his cloak and hat near the door. Although he had already acquired some measure of wealth through various endeavors in his life, Erik was now quite quickly becoming a very rich man. And with this new found fortune, came an opportunity that he had awaited the entire thirty-four years of his life.

Always a veracious reader, his attention had recently turned to the latest in medical journals. He pored over them relentlessly each night, his brilliant mind retaining every notation, every name, every procedure described. Through his endless studies, he had begun to jot down careful notes, and after a long search, a name.

Tonight, he sat down at his desk and with a trembling hand, began to write the carefully worded letter that he had been planning. After rereading it several times, Erik signed his name with a flourish. Then, tucking his notes inside, he sealed the envelope. He carefully placed the letter in his breast pocket and turned to leave the room, but his eyes fell upon the handsome mahogany wardrobe that rested against the opposite wall.

Hesitantly, he crossed the room and stood before it, slowly opening the door to reveal a long mirror. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he stepped in front of it and slowly opened his eyes once again. Looking at the cruel honesty of his reflection had always been difficult for him, but tonight it was even more painful, because where a resigned acceptance had once resided in his mind before, a dangerous sliver of hope had now taken up residence. He surveyed himself cautiously – gray-blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, smooth skin stretched taut across a strong jaw, broad shoulders and a tall, agile frame tapering from narrow hips to long, muscular legs. In fact, with the exception of the right side of his face, he might even have been considered a handsome man – an irony that was not lost to him.

He removed his mask with his left hand and reached up with his right, extending his palm so that it covered the twisted flesh of his deformity, showing only the perfect half of his face. Did he even dare to hope that it was possible?

Erik stepped back abruptly, and fitted the mask back into place, quickly closing the wardrobe door. He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, as he withdrew the letter from his pocket. With his decision made, he strode purposefully from the study to the front door, donning his cloak and hat once more. Possible or not, he would know soon enough.


	6. Letters

Ch. 6 - Letters

Nearly six weeks passed, as Erik awaited his reply. Every day, when he returned home, he urgently searched through the post, waiting for his answer, but none came. The insufferable plague of hope had assailed him like a disease in the first weeks after his letter had been sent, but now, he felt an even more unbearable emptiness as it began to leave him.

He paced the floor of his study, unable for once to work in his restlessness. He stopped momentarily to pour himself a brandy, which he downed quickly, and finally sank into an armchair by the fireplace in defeat. He closed his eyes, tears appearing on his dark lashes. Why had he not learned in all these years of silence, that God was deaf to his prayers? And yet, he still prayed them. In all his unworthiness and sin, he could not bear to give up that tiny comfort. The comfort of the belief, however small, that somewhere, someone would find compassion for him in his misery, and if not God, what hope did he have? The only living soul that had ever seemed to care of his anguish had betrayed him and left him to die. He stared into the fire, his tears reflecting its light as they traced their path down his face.

A sudden knock at the door startled him out of his dark thoughts. With a muffled curse, he pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his damp face and mask as he hurried to answer the door.

In the lamplight, a small boy uncertainly regarded him for a moment, and then, in a nervous voice explained his presence. "This letter has arrived for you, monsieur. It was delivered to the wrong house by mistake. My apologies, monsieur." The boy handed him the letter, and Erik murmured his thanks as he stared in wonder at the return address. His reply had come, for good or ill, he would know now at last if his condition could be treated.

He shut the door and returned to the chair by the fire, holding the letter in front of him and never tearing his eyes from it as if afraid it might disappear at any moment. His hands were trembling so badly now, he could scarcely will his fingers to open the envelope. Finally, he regained control of his movements and carefully removed the letter, spreading in out before him. It read:

_Fondest Greetings Monsieur de Noir,_

_I must admit that I was most surprised by your letter and very much intrigued by its contents. I believe through a combination of my research and your suggestions, a procedure such as the one you described might very well be possible. I have already experienced some success in this area, but of course, I could not guarantee the final result, especially considering the severity of the deformity you described. The procedure is also not without its risks, as I am sure you are well aware. However, if you are still interested, I would be most anxious to make the necessary arrangements. I have ample room and would be very much honored if you would agree to be my guest for the duration of the process. Please let me know the date of your proposed arrival as soon as possible._

_With warmest regards,_

_Maxwell Van Hausen, M.D. _

In stunned silence, Erik let the letter fall from his hands. The doctor's words echoed through his mind, "_...a procedure such as the one you described may very well be possible..."_ It wasn't a guarantee, but it was a possibility and that was more than he had ever had in all his life.

He rose quickly from his chair and began the necessary preparations for his journey. He anticipated that he would be gone at least a year, and he needed to make arrangements for his home to be cared for and for his designs to be sent by post so that his newly found success would not diminish in his absence. He would leave in the morning. By the time the good doctor received his reply, the man who sent it would be standing on his doorstep.

Erik could not help but allow a rare smile to spread across his face. This was his chance - his chance for a real life, if not a happy one, at least a life with a resemblance of normalcy. And who knew, maybe one day, even love – a love that was returned this time. He knew he was being foolishly optimistic, but just this one time, he allowed himself the luxury.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, further encouraging his optimism as he ordered the last trunk loaded into the carriage that would take him to the train depot. He turned back into the house for one last look around to be sure all was in order, which of course it was.

There was only one final thing to be done. If he wished to take this step toward the new life he was seeking, he needed to sever all ties with his past one. He reached for the envelope that lay on his desk. He touched it softly with his fingers, staring at it with a trace of regret. She would be upset by its contents. No matter what she had done to him, he still cared enough to regret that he would cause her pain. Straightening, he thrust the envelope into its pocket. It was what was best for everyone. He would be free of his past and able to start anew, and she and the vicomte would be free of the Phantom forever.

He locked the door carefully, and walked to his carriage, turning his face to feel the warmth of the morning sunshine upon it. This was another of his newfound delights, and he now relished the touch of the heavenly rays. He stepped lightly into the carriage, and to the footman gave his final instructions, "To the depot at once, and please, monsieur, see that this is delivered to the newspaper office in Paris as soon as possible. You have my thanks." The carriage rolled away from his home, the one place where he had found some measure of peace. As Erik watched it disappear in the distance, he silently placed his future in the hands of a God who for whatever reason seemed deaf to his prayers no longer.


	7. A Door Closes

Ch. 7 - A Door Closes

Christine hummed as she worked among the tulips in the flower beds along the side of the house. She had found that she rather enjoyed working in the garden. Without her music to soothe her and occupy her mind, she found her new hobby to be a welcome distraction and a peaceful way to pass the time. She straightened and removed her gloves, surveying her work with satisfaction. As she stood to remove her apron, she noticed Raoul speaking quietly with Elsa. She smiled and waved, brushing her hands across the front of her dress to smooth the wrinkles from it. When she looked up again, Elsa had turned back into the house, and Raoul was striding toward her, a strange look upon his face.

Like a proud child, Christine grasped his hand and drew him over to show him her work. "Well, what do you think? I planted the tulips myself, and the lilies are just beginning to bloom. I may add some roses later, just behind the hyacinths and then..." his silence stopped her, "Raoul, what is it?" Her smile wavered as she sought his eyes uncertainly.

Raoul lowered his gaze to the newspaper he held in his hand. No matter the events of the past, no matter his bitter hatred of the man it spoke of, he dreaded sharing its contents with Christine. She finally seemed to be recovering some of her strength and spirit. And he had no doubt that she would take the news very hard. He was no fool. After the events of _Don Juan Triumphant_ and later below the Opera Populaire, he had had no choice but to recognize that for whatever reason, Christine shared a bond with this creature – a bond that was stronger and more powerful than the fondness she had for him. Although it had been painful to realize, Raoul had been willing to wait, feeling confident that in time Christine would come to see the futility of her love for this deformed murderer, and return his own patient devotion at last.

Now, however, standing before Christine's trusting eyes bearing news of the monster's death, his confidence wavered. He wondered if there would ever be room for him in her heart. Would she be able to mourn for a time and finally move on, or would she be forever haunted by this shadow that consumed her?

"Raoul?" Christine grew more and more fearful at his prolonged silence. He quietly handed her the newspaper. "I'm truly sorry," he said softly, "I know you cared for him." Christine's eyes flew to his in questioning horror as understanding dawned. She didn't have to read the accompanying article, only the title. _"Phantom of the Opera Found Dead". _Instantly, she fainted.


	8. Revelations

Ch. 8 – Revelations

Hours later, she awoke in her room. She had not forgotten the dreadful news, even in all her hours of unconsciousness. Instead, it was as if the words had echoed in her darkened mind, repeating over and over, until she was forced to comprehend and accept them.

She sat up weakly. In the corner of her room, Elsa slept in a small armchair, concerned no doubt for the health of her young friend. Next to her chair on a small end table lay the newspaper article that had brought such upheaval to Christine's nearly peaceful life. She silently crossed the room, careful not to wake Elsa, and grasped the paper in her trembling hand. She sat down before the light of the candle and spread it out before her.

Christine closed her eyes, mentally steeling herself for the emotional tumult that would undoubtedly ensue. But she had to know. She had heard no word of him in over a year, and her soul cried out to know what had become of him and how his tragic life had ended. She was hungry for every detail of him, no matter what pain it caused her. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and proceeded to read.

"_Phantom of the Opera Found Dead."_

_"A man fitting the description of the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera' was found dead beneath the Opera Populaire late last week. The body was discovered during the recent renovation of the Opera House, following a disastrous fire rumored to be the work of the mysterious Phantom. The death appeared to be the result of multiple gunshot wounds, most likely inflicted during the mob riot following last year's performance of 'Don Juan Triumphant' in which the Phantom himself appeared. Upon discovering the body of Ubaldo Piangi, the Opera's leading tenor, opera members and police stormed the Phantom's underground lair. According to witnesses, the Phantom was never seen, but shots were fired in an attempt to force him from hiding. Unbeknownst to those present, several shots apparently met their target. Although badly decomposed, the Phantom's body was identified through a well-known physical deformity of the face and from the discovery of a white half-mask which he was known to wear. His body will be cremated, as is customary for those considered to be enemies of society." _

Christine's vision was clouded by her tears. She could not bear to read any more. "..._as is customary for those considered to be enemies of society..."_ She was angered by the words. _Society made its own enem_y, she thought bitterly. She dropped to her knees before the fire, sobbing quietly. She had never felt so alone. Her angel, her protector was gone. His dark beauty and incredible genius lost to her and the world forever. Never again would she hear his enchanting voice, or feel the power and rapture of his music. She would never fully experience the passion that he had given her but a taste of the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. She would never again taste the sweetness of his gentle, uncertain kiss. He had been the only being on Earth who had understood her passion for music, and the only one who had felt the desires of her heart without her speaking a word. With no one else would she share such a bond. No, in all her life, even following the death of her father, she had never felt so unbearably alone in the world. And yet, the thought which rent and tore at her soul above all others was in knowing that she had deserted her beloved Angel on the night of his death.

"My God, what have I done?" she whispered. That night she had treated him with unspeakable cruelty. She had played upon his desire for her, leading him into a trap that would ultimately end in his death. Her head fell into her hands and she sobbed uncontrollably now.

Why had she agreed to do it? She had begged Raoul to leave her out of his plan, but he had persisted. Confused, frightened by the Phantom's rage and violence, she had allowed Raoul to steer her will. During the months following the death of Joseph Buquet and in the absence of her Angel, she had needed someone to comfort and guide her, and Raoul had been eager to fill the void. He had represented a simpler life, a life free from the overwhelming passion and fear that the Phantom offered her. In her youth and naivety, she had seized at the opportunity to be rescued from the storm of emotion that engulfed her body, mind, and soul. Now, she cursed her weakness of will and the faintness of her heart. If she had only been stronger, more certain of what she wanted, all of this horror could have been avoided.

In her weakness, however, she had agreed to the plan, but that night on the stage, as her Angel had risked everything to win her, her heart and body and worked of their own accord. She had been powerless to resist as her body yielded to his every caress. Her voice responded to the passion of his in a way that was beyond her control. She became lost in the moment, forgetting the danger around them as she luxuriated in the tangible caress of his voice and the heat of his touch as she had never before allowed herself to do. And then, when they had met at last on the bridge before all the audience, when he could have had her body and soul at any moment, he had stopped the exquisite torment of his seduction, and had asked humbly for her heart.

A searing pain shot through her at the memory of it and she closed her eyes. As she had realized what he was offering, her eyes had flown open, and behind him she had seen the armed guard standing with gun ready at the edge of the scaffolding. Suddenly, she had remembered the cruel trap to which she was the bait. She had known then with undeniable certainty she could never go through with it. But if her Angel remained there with her, he would surely be captured or killed.

Her mind had raced franticly as she considered her options. The guard would only shoot when he had a clear shot, once she was clear of her lover's embrace. As her Angel stepped away from her to seek her eyes and ask his final question, the moment had come. If she waited any longer, the guards would have the opportunity they were waiting for. He was risking everything, his love making him reckless despite the danger. He would not leave her until he heard her answer, no matter what the cost.

Suddenly she had known what she would have to do. Despite the agony it caused her, she did not hesitate, but quickly removed his mask. She knew that without his mask he would not be able to bear her eyes and the eyes of the audience on his marred face. He would flee, of that she had been certain, and he would be safe.

What she hadn't been prepared for was the look of shock and betrayal, of the unimaginable sadness as he stared at her unmoving; making no effort to hide himself though he had in effect been laid bare before all. His tortured eyes held one agonizing question – _Why?_ In that moment, her heart had been torn in two, and though her desperate eyes pleaded with him to forgive her, she knew he would never forget her treachery.

At the shrieks of the audience and the flurry of motion behind him, he had seemed suddenly to become aware of the impending danger, and with a quickness that left the guards staring dumbstruck, quickly cut the rope for the chandelier, pulled her to him, and dropped out of sight through a hidden trap door in the stage.

In the moments that followed, she had found herself dragged to his home by a madman. Gone was the charming, gentle tutor she had grown to trust. The man before her behaved as the monster his appearance portrayed. Though she knew she deserved his wrath for her betrayal, his rough treatment confused and wounded her. Prior to that night, he had always treated her with such delicate care, spoken to her as if she were a princess in a fairy tale - his angel. And now, he treated her as a slave, a prisoner. He had murdered Piangi, and while Christine had no great love for the man herself, she could not condone his selfish and violent actions. This other side to the man she cared so much for unnerved her, and she had responded to his anger in kind - uttering words that she knew she would later regret, as she did now.

She stared into the flames of the fire, allowing herself at last to remember all that had transpired that awful night. Raoul had come then, but he had proved quickly he was no match for her Angel. In his valiant rescue attempt, he had managed to become captured himself only moments after his arrival, forcing her to accept responsibility for his life as well.

Finally, her Angel had stunned her with an unimaginable ultimatum, love him or allow Raoul to die at his hand. She had merely stared at him in stunned disbelief, as he stood so dangerous and desperate before her. Compassion and guilt washed over her as she realized he truly believed that this was the only way he could ever hope to have her love, to have anyone's love for that matter. She had driven him to this madness with her indecision and betrayal - playing dangerously with a desperate heart that had been wounded so deeply by human cruelty in the past.

She knew words would never be enough to convince him that she cared for him. She had stepped forward purposefully, reaching out to him, willing him to believe in the truth of her actions. She had slipped his ring on her finger, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. In that first kiss, she had poured all of her tenderness and compassion, wanting desperately to prove to him that he was no longer alone in the world.

When he drew back in wonder, searching her eyes, she had reached for his lips again. This time, she had opened the gates of her very soul to him, allowing him to feel her adoration and passion for him. When she stepped back, she had smiled tremulously, hoping to see some trace of recognition in his eyes of her gift.

At first, she had thought he understood, his face seeming to light with a faint trace of a smile. Quickly however, she had realized her mistake. The smile twisted into an expression of unadulterated agony and rage. His face could not have held more pain if she had pierced his flesh with a knife. To her horror, she realized her Angel believed her kiss to be nothing more than a heartless trick of manipulation meant to secure Raoul's freedom.

Sadly, she had watched his body rack with sobs. After all the cruelty he had endured, he would never be able to trust in anyone's compassion for him, least of all hers. No matter her intentions, after what she had done he would never see her as more than a ruthless woman with a gift for manipulation. After all the rejection he had endured in his past, he had at last dared to open his heart to her, and she had crushed it mercilessly. He would never forgive her.

As this dreadful realization dawned, the shouts of the mob had become unnervingly close. They seemed to break him from his anguish. He had turned to Raoul, "Take her. Forget me. Forget all of this." And with that, he had cast her away from him forever. She had stood dumbly for a moment, unable to speak. Hearing Raoul's urgent cries, she had returned to her senses, quickly undoing his ropes. In his relief, he had crushed her to him in an embrace that only served to confirm that which her Angel already believed. He had cursed them, screaming at them to leave him in peace.

At first, Christine's fear and Raoul's insistence had forced her to obey, but she had found herself unable to leave. She could not abandon her Angel without at least trying to make him understand that he would always have a place in her heart, even if he refused to believe it. Without taking time to think what she would do, she had ignored Raoul's insistent pleas and had waded back through the water to find her Angel. When she saw him sitting lost in his misery before his music box, pity and shame had overwhelmed her and denied her the power of speech.

Then he had seen her and the agony in his eyes had been unbearable as he realized what she had come to do. Softly, he had sung to her in an almost child-like whisper, "Christine, I love you." It had been all she could do to place her ring in his hand, closing his fingers over it tightly and covering them briefly with her own. It would have to be enough. She hoped he would understand that in giving him the ring she was giving him forever a part of herself. She wondered now if he would even want it after all that she had done. Still unable to speak in her anguish, and she had turned in despair, hurrying to the boat with tears flooding her eyes.

It could never be between them, she reasoned. He knew it and she knew it, but that knowledge did not serve to heal her broken soul. As Raoul rowed silently away, she had turned back then to look at him once more as he stood watching her over the water, singing just for him one last time.For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw his face soften. Then Raoul, mistaking her song as being for him had answered her.Any traces of forgiveness she might have seen evaporated and her Angel's face hardened, but still she had continued to sing for him.

As she slipped out of his sight, she heard his soft voice call after her, "_You alone can make my song take flight."_ And then, in a different voice, one raw with anguish he had cried out, "_It's over now, the music of the night!"_

His music, his beautiful music was over and it was because of her. She had fallen to her knees sobbing in the boat, and the next thing she remembered, she had awoken in Raoul's carriage.

Christine felt utterly exhausted, as if the effort of remembering all the painful events of that night had drained her of all life. Her head pounded and her eyes had no more tears to cry. But her agony would not cease, as she thought of the words in the newspaper, describing his final moments. Even though she had had no choice but to leave him, she had never imagined that he would stay there, awaiting his fate at the hands of the mob. She had assumed her clever Angel would simply fade into the shadows, as he always had. She had never dreamt that such a powerful force could be destroyed by a chance bullet. Even in her own loneliness, how could she begin to imagine the utter aloneness he had felt in his final moments, with her betrayal so fresh in his memory? He had died as he had lived – no one to comfort him, no arms to hold him, believing himself unloved and unwanted.

Christine closed her eyes. The searing pain in her heart could only mean one thing, and she could deny it no longer. She loved him. She had always loved him. Her emotion for him had been so deep it had overwhelmed her, making her blind to it until this moment. It was not the compassion and pity as she had thought it before; it was the heart-rending need of a woman for the man she loved. In her youth and inexperience, she had not recognized it for what it was until this very minute. God, how she loved him! Now that she was aware of it, the magnitude of it hit her full force until she felt she would drown. Her head dropped into her hands and she wept bitterly long into the night.


	9. That Which Remains Unsaid

Ch. 9 – That Which Remains Unsaid

At last, Christine could bear her grief no more. She had to tell him, to explain to him somehow. Even if just for the sake of her own sanity, she needed him to know the depth of her feelings for him and to know that she would not knowingly have betrayed him for anything in the world. Resolved in her intentions, she withdrew several sheets of paper, a pen, and ink. Late into the night, she poured her liquid anguish onto the paper before her, holding nothing back. She spoke to him of how she had loved him as a father figure those first years when he had comforted her after her father's death, and how that love had changed and deepened as she had grown older, although she hadn't recognized it for what it was until now. She told him of the magic she had felt that night when he had first brought her to his home and shared with her his music. She wrote of how frightened and confused she had been after the death of Buquet, and how she had thought for a time that her feelings for him were something sinful that must be denied. She explained to him how during the time of his absence, she had missed him and had longed for his voice, and how in her loneliness and fear she had allowed Raoul to comfort her. She wrote of the passion and desire she had felt burning for him on the bridge during _Don Juan Triumphant_, and explained to him once and for all what her true intentions had been when she had seemed to betray him. She told him all the things she loved about him – his dark beauty and grace, his genius and passion, his celestial voice, and the majesty of his music. Finally, she told him how she wished she could have been there with him when he had died, to hold him and comfort him and kiss him one last time, and how desperately she missed him now.

When she had finished, she read it aloud to him, directing her broken voice heavenward, and then paused for a moment, finally signing it, "Yours then, now, and always, - Christine".

Although she knew he would never read it, somehow, finally releasing all those memories and emotions into words had been deeply comforting to her, as if she had finally been honest with both him and herself. She knelt by the dying embers of the fire, her tears dry at last, and prayed aloud, "Dear God, you know the truth of my heart and you know the all that he endured. Please take these words to my Angel who is in your care now. Grant him your forgiveness and your peace at last. Amen." Satisfied, she turned her face from the fire, and allowed her carefully written letter to fall from her hands into the dying embers.

Through the window, she could see the first rays of the sunrise appearing along the horizon. Knowing she would not sleep this night, she gathered a blanket around her shoulders and quietly stepped out onto the balcony to watch the dawning of a new day.

Unbeknownst to Christine, the quiet figure in the corner had been awake for some time, and was moved deeply by all that she had heard. Suddenly, compelled by a force she didn't completely understand she moved silently across the room, and bent by the fireplace to rescue Christine's heart-rending words from their destruction. Elsa did not know what good could come of them now, but she gently put out the smoldering edges and placed the letter carefully in a little ornamental music box that she kept on the shelf in Christine's room. Retrieving the golden key from the drawer, she locked the box and set it back on the shelf, placing the tiny key in the pocket of her robe. She stood looking at the box for a moment, then sighed, "After hearing what you have revealed this night, Christine, I believe even the angels in heaven are sharing in your grief. God himself would have to be made of stone to ignore your anguish. I truly believe He will find a way to answer you."

What Elsa could not yet know as she looked at the little box on the shelf, was that through her own actions that night she had already played an invaluable role in God's answer.


	10. Sacrifice

Ch. 10 – Sacrifice

Silver snowflakes drifted lazily from the muted December sky. Christine watched them through the sitting room window as she sat with a book in front of the fire. During the winter months when she could no find no comfort among her flower beds, she had taken to losing herself for a time in the books from Elsa's vast library. Today, however, she found she could not concentrate, and she set the book aside with a sigh of impatience. Restless, she stood up and moved to stare out the window, the endless gray of the sky matching her mood.

She knew the reason for her unsettled mind. Tonight was the evening of the de Chagny Christmas Ball. Rather than a time of celebration as it was for most, Christmas had always been a lonely time of year for Christine since the death of her father. She would have much preferred to spend a quiet holiday with Elsa, especially this year, which had been more difficult than any since then. But she knew that was not the only reason she dreaded the evening's festivities.

She turned from the window, and began the climb up the grand staircase to her room. Upon entering her room, she glanced at the clock and realized with a sigh that it was indeed time to dress for the evening. She sat down in a chair by the fire in her room and stared at the flames, remembering a night when she had lain before that very fireplace, her heart shattered as she had spoke of her lost love to the heavens. Now on this night, only three months later, she feared Raoul would finally ask her for that very same heart – one she had come to realize would never truly be whole again.

She could not refuse him. What reason did she have to do so? He had been so good to her, so patient and steadfast. She had no doubts that he would be a wonderful husband. And yet, guilt and indecision plagued her.

She stood up once again, walking to the armoire to retrieve her finery for the evening. The dress was lovely, a gift from Raoul. It was a pale pink and made of the very finest satin and lace. She fingered the material, feeling its luxury beneath her hand. The dress was demure and innocent, just as Raoul saw her, she thought sadly. And yet she was an innocent no longer. While she had never had anything but a kiss from either of her lovers, the awakening of her body, soul, and mind had belonged to only one of them, and that man no longer walked among the living. How could she in good conscience pledge herself to one man, when all of her being cried out to be with another, even if that was no longer possible?

Tears would no longer come to her, as she had spent them all in the grief of the past months. Instead, her soul felt dead within her, and she faced each day with a kind of resigned detachment – smiling politely and feigning interest in all that went on around her. She felt as if she was living in a kind of limbo, a purgatory, trapped in the mortal world when all she longed for was to be free to fly to the heavens where her lost love awaited her.

With resignation, she undressed and dragged the heavy ball gown over her head, sliding it into place over her slight frame. She looked at herself in the mirror apathetically. The gown was lovely, but a tad too large, and she thought she seemed lost among the dainty ruffles and bows. There were dark circles under her eyes and the soft pink of the dress only served to highlight the pale, unhealthy pallor of her skin. She sat down at her vanity and dragged a brush through her unruly curls without mercy, pinning them back tightly, without much concern. She did not bother with any makeup, aside from a bit of rouge on her cheeks to give her skin at least a hint of color. The face staring back at her, although still youthful, had lost its glow, the eyes their sparkle. It was as if her spirit had deserted her body, leaving only a wraith behind. The shell of a woman staring back at her from the glass seemed far older than her years; the pain she had endured had taken its toll.

Christine stood up and moved toward the door, the rustle of her gown seeming unbearably loud in the comforting silence of her room. Before leaving, she closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her waist, as if to steady herself and gather the strength she would need to endure the evening ahead. Opening them, her gaze fell on the fire once more, and she whispered aloud, "Angel, whatever happens tonight, know only that you are and will always be first in my heart. But please understand, I cannot bear to be the cause of any more pain." With that, Christine opened the door and walked out. The tears that had temporarily abandoned her welled in her eyes once more.


	11. A Reluctant Promise

Ch. 11 – A Reluctant Promise

Raoul watched the door anxiously, awaiting Christine's arrival with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He nervously fingered the ring in his pocket, remembering all too well what she had done with the first ring he had given her. But no matter his worries, he could afford to wait for her no longer. He would be leaving soon, and he wanted all to be settled between them before he departed, as he knew not when he would return.

He saw her then, a tiny figure in pale pink, seeming lost among crowd. His eyes softened with concern. She was wasting away before his eyes. Gone was the radiance that had always surrounded her. Though still lovely, she was but a shadow of all that she had been before. _Damn that monster and his hold over her_, he thought angrily. _Look what he has done to her!_ She deserved happiness and love, and watching her, he resolved that he would do everything in his power to see that she had them both. He strode through the crowd with a single purpose on his mind.

Christine sighed as she watched Raoul cross the room toward her. She cared for him; that was beyond dispute. He was a dear friend, and the first romantic crush of her childhood. She had nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to. She couldn't stay with Elsa forever, although she knew Elsa would gladly allow her to. She had to move forward, or she would be crushed by the weight of her sorrow. With resolve, she vowed to give whatever remained of herself to Raoul. She owed him that much. She had cared for two men in her short lifetime. One she had hurt irrevocably. She could not change that, but she could offer Raoul the happiness that she would never be able to give to her Angel. After all, the only person who would suffer from it would be her, and it was only as much as she deserved.

She straightened her shoulders resolutely, and forced her lips into a smile as Raoul reached her side.

"Christine, you look wonderful. Would you care to dance?"

"Certainly, Raoul, whatever you would like." She took his hand and he swept her onto the floor. The music was light and festive, and she found that while her despair still clung tightly to her heart, she was indeed having a good time, despite herself. It felt good to break away from her mourning for a time, to reenter the world of the living. Her cheeks were flushed from dancing, and she finally begged Raoul for a rest. He obliged her indulgently, leading her out onto the balcony for a breath of air. It was cold, and he draped his cloak over her shoulders, wrapping his arms around her small frame.

Unbidden, thoughts of another man who had wrapped her in his cloak came to mind. She remembered how he had held her in his arms this same way one night as they had stood looking up at the stars from the roof of the Opera House. He had lifted her chin to the heavens and had patiently shown her how a group of stars could be connected to form a picture in the sky. That night, he had named for her all the constellations visible to her eyes and told her the mythical story behind each one. He had taught her so much, shared so much of his unique self with her over the years. Christine closed her eyes, tears threatening once again, but she steadied herself, drawing in a shaking breath and releasing it slowly.

Feeling her tense in his arms, Raoul gently turned her to face him. His eyes seeking hers, his hands on her shoulders, he spoke with gentle sincerity. "Christine, I know you have suffered. I wish I could bear your pain for you. But I cannot, and no matter how I try, I can't seem to pull you back from this darkness that has encompassed you." He raised one hand to cup her cheek, "But my darling, I love you. You know how I love you, and if you would give me the chance, I would spend the rest of my life bringing back the smile to your face. Let me lead you back into the light, Christine. Be my wife, and I will be the happiest man on Earth. Things will be good again, you will see." His eyes pleaded with her silently.

His uncertainty was too much for her to bear. She had thought herself prepared for his question, and in her mind she believed she had made peace with her decision, but now when the time came for her answer, the words would not. She turned away from him to stare out into the night, seeking its dark comfort.

Raoul moved behind her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He bowed his head slightly, and continued in a different voice, a voice filled with his own pain and regret. "Christine, I would wait for you forever. I know you are not yet ready, but something has changed that spurs my urgency." He hesitated, "I am leaving, Christine."

As her mind came back to the present and Christine registered his words, she spun around to face him, seeing the truth in his eyes. "I don't understand," she whispered.

"I know you have remained blessedly unaware of the incidents in Paris and throughout the country, but things are happening in France, my dear. Changes are underway. The Prussians are threatening France's very sovereignty as a nation, and there is great unrest among our own people as well. As you know, my family has served in the French military for generations. I myself was a naval officer for a time before I returned to you, and now my services are required once again." After a moment's pause, he added softly, "I am sorry to pressure you, my love, but I would much prefer to leave knowing that you will be here awaiting me as my wife when I return. Please, Little Lotte, don't shut me out again. Open your heart to me at last."

His eyes searched hers desperately, as he held out his ring to her. His question hung heavy in the air between them, the moment seeming to last beyond endurance. With a mental shake, Christine steadied herself. It would be a good match, her mind reasoned. He would be gentle and loving, and he needed her now more than ever. There was nothing for her in the shattered past, all she could do was to try and build a future from the ruins somehow. With trembling hands, she took the ring from his fingers and slipped it on her hand, her eyes gazing up at him uncertainly, forcing a brave smile for his sake.

Impulsively, Raoul picked her up and swung her around easily, crushing her to him in sheer joy. "Thank you, Christine. You will not regret your decision. I will make you the happiest woman on earth! Come, let's share our joy with those inside!"

He took her hand and led her back through the open door. Christine began to panic. She wasn't ready to face the prying eyes of his family and all of Paris society. But she was helpless to resist as he pulled her into the ballroom, leading her onto the stairs where all could see. Her heart began to race and her head to swim. Everyone in the room knew the torrid story of their past, knew how long he had waited for her to make up her mind, knew the rumors that her heart belonged to another. As Raoul called for everyone's attention, she felt their stares boring into her, challenging her right to be there beside him. She did not belong here. Their eyes told her clearly. Raoul seemed oblivious to the whispers and disapproving stares of the crowd, but Christine felt she was being scalded by them.

When the room quieted sufficiently at last, Raoul spoke, joy and pride brimming in his voice. "I have an announcement to make. I ask all of you, my good friends, to celebrate with me this night, as the lovely Miss Christine Daae has at last consented to be my wife." His eyes turned to her with unconcealed adoration. "We ask all of you to be present at our wedding in one week's time, before I am to leave in the service of France in her defense against the Prussians." A buzz continued around the room, and Christine's head felt light. His words echoed in her ears, "_...our wedding in one week's time."_ The wave of hysteria that passed over her this time was too much, and as she felt Raoul move to steady her, she fainted into his arms.


	12. Consequences

**A/N: **romancebookworm4ever – Thank you once again for your reviews. I am trying to stay ahead of you with my replies. Never fear, Erik is not far away, Germany to be exact. There were a few loose ends to tie up with Christine first, so forgive my lack of Erik in these few chapters. I promise to make it up with almost entirely Erik in the second half of the story. As I said before, I love him too much to abandon him for long, just as you obviously do. Also, yes, I am putting Christine through a lot of pain but I feel she deserves to suffer A LOT for leaving my beloved Erik. I won't give her my treasured hero so easily.

Ch. 12 - Consequences

Christine awoke in a luxurious bedroom. Her head throbbed, and her breathing did not yet feel normal as she struggled to sit up. She could see Raoul speaking in the corner to a man who appeared to be a doctor. She could hear bits and pieces of their conversation, as she lay her head back down on the pillow and closed her heavy eyes. "_Simply a result of stress and exhaustion...too much excitement, no doubt...needs her rest...Give her this to help her sleep tonight..." _Raoul came to sit at her side, taking her hand gently in his own. Her eyes fluttered open as he spoke her name.

"Christine, my darling, I am sorry. The doctor says you've had too much excitement this evening. Forgive me. I knew you had not been well. I should not have expected so much from you this night." He touched her cheek softly. "The doctor has given you something to help you rest. Sleep well, my love." He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

Christine could feel the soothing effects of the drug on her anguished mind. Slowly, the delicious warmth and drowsiness spread through her body, giving her a feeling of liquid peace. Her mind stilled, and in her dream-like state, she could suddenly see her Angel walking toward her in the darkness. She drank in every detail of him in all his dark majesty, and when he spoke, it was as if her soul had been starving for the sound of his voice. "Christine," he whispered, his gray-blue eyes drowning her in their depths, "I heard you call out for me and I have returned to you." In her mind, she saw him draw towards her, bringing his lips to meet hers in a dazzling kiss that left her breathless. He drew back then, a look of utter love glowing in his eyes. He took her hand in his to kiss it, but then anger and confusion clouded his face as his piercing eyes took in the ring on her finger. He dropped her hand as if it burned him and stepped backward away from her, his face screaming her betrayal. His powerful voice filled with wrath and pain echoed in her mind, though he spoke not a word. "_I forgave you, returned to you from the grave, and still you betray me. You have made your choice once and for all, Christine. I am lost to you." _He turned and strode away from her, disappearing from sight without looking back.

Christine sat bolt upright. She was drenched in sweat, and her breathing was shallow and quick, like that of a frightened rabbit. It took her a moment to remember where she was, then seeing the extravagant furnishings around her, she remembered she was in the lavish de Chagny mansion, where she would soon be mistress. Rather than delighting her, the thought terrified her.

And her Angel...her eyes closed at the pain of the dream's memory. She was betraying him, betraying herself, betraying Raoul by agreeing to this marriage. She stood and walked to the window, staring forlornly at the snow-covered grounds below. Elsa's words to her that first day in the garden echoed in her mind, "_Not only will you succeed in ruining both of these men whom you care for, but you will bring upon your own soul a torture you could never have imagined_." Christine stared down at her engagement ring, tears streaming down her cheeks. How right she had been!


	13. Resolution

Ch. 13 - Resolution

Erik gingerly touched the bandages around his face. The pain had been excruciating, but his treatments were nearing an end. He hadn't dared to look at the progress that had been made, preferring to wait until the end of the long process to see the final result. Dr. Van Hausen had assured him that all was going well and that he was making amazing progress, but still Erik didn't dare to raise his hopes. All he was anticipating was improvement. If he could regain even the slightest resemblance of normalcy in his appearance, if he could be rid of his mask forever, that would be enough.

His eyes traveled to the partially finished score resting on the piano before him. He had begun composing again. Somehow, the idea of a new start had opened his mind to the possibility of music once more. When Dr. Van Hausen had learned of his interest in music, he had insisted that the baby grand piano from the ball room be moved into the sitting area of Erik's suite. Erik had declined at first, but the temptation to play had proved too powerful to resist.

He sat down now and began to play softly, closing his eyes and swaying slightly as the melody embraced him. After all, music had always been his release, his comforter, the only faithful lover he had ever known. He could not be kept from her for long, as she was entwined hopelessly in the threads of his soul. His hands stilled as he completed the piece, and the unwelcome thought came to his mind, "_as is Christine." _

He stood abruptly, running a hand restlessly through his dark hair. _Damn her! _Would she always haunt him? Coming unbidden, entangling herself in everything he did? He looked down at the sketches lying on the table beside him. In his spare time, he had taken to designing a luxurious, sprawling home for himself, now that he could afford it. _Even in this, she is everywhere_, he thought wrathfully, flinging the papers to the floor. He was angry at his own weakness. Without realizing it, he had designed the home as much for her as for himself, adding little touches here and there that he had thought might please her.

He hung his dark head, standing braced against the fireplace, staring at the flames. She was always there. In his music, in his sketches, in his dreams, his mind, his heart, his soul – he could not be free of her. He ruthlessly grabbed the glass of brandy he had poured himself earlier from the mantle and hurled it against the far wall, feeling a warped satisfaction as he watched it shatter into oblivion.

Even now, when he was so close to a fresh start, the past wove itself around him, its velvet chains embracing him stealthily and attempting to drag him back into darkness.

He sighed in frustration and stepped to the door. Perhaps a walk would calm him and clear his mind of its ghosts. He donned his hat and cloak, and replaced his mask carefully over his bandaged face.

Erik opened the door and stepped out into the winter evening, taking a deep breath of the fresh, chilling air. He wandered down the front walk of the grand estate and toward the village. As he made his way through the cobbled streets, his eyes were drawn to one light that remained burning - a small news stand on the corner. He often stopped there to buy a copy of a Paris newspaper, wanting to keep abreast of the political upheaval in his native country. He crossed the street and found a recent copy with a headline that attracted his interest. Erik paid the old man minding the stand and murmured his thanks.

The cold was beginning to chill him through, and he hastened back up the road to the Van Hausen estate, coming in the back way so as not to awaken anyone in the household. He returned to his room and removed his hat and cloak once more, sitting near to the fire to warm himself and read for a time.

Erik had been reading for several moments when he turned the page and saw at once the words that stopped him cold. "_Vicomte de Chagny to wed Mademoiselle Christine Daae Later This Week_". He read every word of the article again and again, as if to prove to his rebellious heart that it was finally over. A small part of him, a part that he would not admit to himself existed, had been encouraged by the delay in the announcement of their engagement. That same small part had thought that perhaps, if Christine were to be free once more, with his repaired face, he might be able to win her.

At the words of the paper, he could no longer hold onto even the shreds of hope. Since the copy was nearly a week old, she was most likely already married. All of his fantasies of a bittersweet reunion evaporated to nothing more than the delusions of a desperate man. _My God! She has only thought me dead for three months! _He thought incredulously. If she had cared for him in the slightest, she would have surely waited longer than that before marrying another. It was obvious to him now that the trivial matter of his death had only served to free her from him once and for all.

When he had mailed the announcement of his death to the Paris newspaper, he had felt regret, even guilt for the pain he had thought it would cause her. Obviously, he had worried needlessly. She had felt none. That knowledge undid him. He was broken, this time, irreparably. His head dropped into his hands and his knees to the floor. It was as if she had left him all over again. Once again he was that pitiful creature from the lair, sobbing helplessly as he watched her sail away with her prince. He knelt there before the fire sobbing long into the night.

The next morning, Erik awoke with a new resolve and a sense of self-loathing unlike he had ever before experienced. He would not allow himself to be reduced to that creature he had been last night ever again. He would not give her that power any longer.

His demeanor was clad in an armor of icy steel as he burned ruthlessly the newspaper and the score he had been working on in the flames of the fireplace. He would not burn the sketches. Those had taken far too much time and he was still planning on building his estate. Instead, he would simply erase her from it - removing all traces that alluded to her. He rolled up the plans and set them aside.

The last trace of her in his possession, her ring, still sparkled tauntingly from his little finger. He turned it thoughtfully. No, he would not remove it. He would force himself to remember its purpose there – to remind him of her betrayals, of which there were now two.

He moved purposefully for the door. Today was the day of his last treatment. After three more months of recovery, the bandages would be removed, and he would have a new life. He fully intended to take it and live it to the fullest. He would allow Christine's memory to hold him back no longer.

God watched from His heaven with both sympathy and faint amusement as Erik strode so determinedly down the path he believed led away from Christine forever, knowing in His divine wisdom that all paths led only to where He himself directed.


	14. The Truth Shall Set You Free

Ch. 14 – The Truth Shall Set You Free

Christine stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror. She was all alone at last. In the rushed preparations of the past week, she had arrived here somehow standing in an elaborate wedding dress in a magnificent cathedral, and it was as if she could not remember how she had come to be there. The face looking back at her looked unfamiliar and full of dread, like a lamb being led to the slaughter. She covered her face with her hands, willing herself not to cry and spoil the makeup her new maid, Clarissa, had so painstakingly helped her apply.

Attempting to calm herself, Christine took several deep breaths. She was not being sent to some horrible fate, she reminded herself. She was marrying a handsome, rich man who loved her deeply. And today, she would promise herself to him. She had to get her wayward heart under control. In a few moments, she would be standing in a church, pledging herself to Raoul before God.

Her hands flew up to cover her face again in shame. She honestly felt she might be struck down at the altar for it. God would know she was pledging that which no longer belonged to her, that which was already irrevocably promised to someone else. Her hands were shaking. How could she go through with it? Her breath came in great gasps suddenly, and her chest heaved.

The door opened slightly, and Elsa appeared. She saw at once the wild desperation in Christine's shaking, gasping form. Closing the door silently behind her, she walked to Christine's side and took her in her arms. Christine gradually regained her breath and turned her face away into Elsa's shoulder. She spoke in a voice no more than a whisper, "Elsa, what should I do?"

Elsa led her to a bench along the wall and sat facing her, filled with sympathy and concern for the little lost child before her. She cupped Christine's face in her hands. "My darling, only your heart can tell you that." Taking in the look of grief and terror in Christine's eyes, she said softly, "And it appears it already has. Do not doubt it. It speaks only truth." She brushed a tear from Christine's cheek gently with the back of her hand. "Ma chère, no one who is to be married should feel this way. If this were the right choice, would it hurt so?" Her eyes never left Christine's. "I know you mean to right all the wrongs of the past by trying to give Raoul what you could never give your Angel. But is it fair to offer him that which belongs to another? Would he even want it if he knew?"

She patted Christine's hand. "You have already survived the hardest part – admitting the truth to yourself. Could it be any more difficult to admit it to Raoul? He deserves to know. And you deserve to be happy. You will be one day; I have no doubt of that. But darling, happiness cannot be built on dishonesty, and neither can a marriage." Her eyes clouded in that familiar, mysterious way once again, but she smiled gently, "He is outside. Should I send him in?"

Christine looked down at her hands for a moment, then with her decision made, she looked up at Elsa with a small smile. She hugged the older woman gratefully, "Elsa, you are so very like a mother to me. Sometimes, I wish you had been." She kissed her gently on the cheek, "Thank you for everything."

As Christine stood calmly at last, ready to endure the trial ahead, it was Elsa whose eyes filled with tears. As she walked silently out the door to find Raoul, her mind cried out, _You don't know how often I have wished that very thing, my darling Christine. _

Elsa returned to the courtyard where she had last seen Raoul, her eyes scanning the growing crowd. Finally, she saw him, standing deep in animated conversation with another gentleman. Elsa wasted no time, fearing Christine would lose her nerve. She spoke urgently, "Vicomte, Christine wishes to speak to you. It is most important." He nodded, a look of concern appearing on his face. He bowed curtly to the man with which he had been speaking and followed her without argument.

As they reached the bridal room, Elsa took his arm sympathetically. She looked up at the handsome, loving face and felt a wave of pity. She was thinking of another dear face that had once stood about to hear the same heart-rending words that this unknowing boy would hear momentarily. The man in her memory had never heard them of course, for unlike Christine, her courage had failed before she could utter a single word. Meeting Raoul's questioning look, she said simply, "Go to her."

As Raoul quietly entered the room, he felt his breath catch. His eyes took in Christine standing before him, a lovely vision in the fine white silk dress he had purchased for her. He stared at her, drinking in her loveliness for a moment, but when his eyes drifted to her face, he saw there a curious look of sadness and resolve. She moved toward the bench and motioned for him to sit next to her. He obliged without question. Christine reached for his hand, and stroked it fondly for a moment, gathering her courage. Then, with every last ounce of her will, she told him the truth: She could not marry him. Her heart still belonged to her Angel, and if she could not be with him, she could not be with anyone.

He listened carefully, closing his eyes to the pain several times. The hand that was not held in hers gripped tightly in a fist until his knuckles were white. When she had finished speaking, Christine gently raised his face to meet her eyes. "Do you understand, dear Raoul? Can you ever forgive me?" She needed him to understand, to let her go at last.

Raoul looked at her innocent, pleading face in both wonderment and despair. He looked away from her, and in a soft voice, answered gently, "Christine, it is I who should be asking your forgiveness." He dropped his head into his hands. "I knew. God help me, I knew. In my desperation to have you as my own, I willfully overlooked what you wanted, thinking in my arrogance that in time, I could be everything that you needed." He sighed brokenly. "I will never claim to understand your feelings for him, but I can only say that were he to be alive, he would be the most fortunate man on Earth, despite his past. For he earned somehow, what I could not."

He stood up, drawing her to him in a gentle, anguished embrace, burying his face in the softness of her shoulder. "I will always love you, Christine. I can't change that. But that love allows me to accept that I cannot give you the happiness you deserve." His eyes filled with tears, as he drew back to take in her face once more. She smiled at him, a real smile this time, full of gratefulness and fondness. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was enough. She reached down and slid his ring from her finger, placing it in his hand, and closing his fingers over it. He bent down and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Be happy at last, Little Lotte." With that, he turned and left the room.


	15. God Opens A Window

Ch. 15 – God Opens a Window

Christine had left for the afternoon to do some shopping in the village market. Elsa was alone in the enormous house, a condition she regretted. In the pleasant peaceful days since Christine had returned, the house was always full of her life and laughter. Since her confession to Raoul, it was as if she had been freed from the demons that assailed her. Torn no longer between two men, and instead content to love one with all her heart despite the fact that he no longer lived, she was free at last. Her color had been renewed, and she had grown healthy and strong, both in mind and body. She had even taken to singing again, and the sound of her voice was a golden thread of joy, filling the house.

Though Elsa knew Christine needed to go out from time to time and be part of the world, she missed her terribly. It was strange that she had been alone so long before Christine had come and had never noticed. Now, an hour apart from her adopted daughter seemed an eternity.

Today, she sat idly with a book, reading in the sitting room and taking in the warm spring sunshine. It had been nearly a year since Christine had first arrived broken and bedraggled on her doorstep. Finally, the sun was shining again. There was only one sadness now that still twisted her heart. Christine would be turning eighteen in just a few days, and was happily in love with a man who was dead. There would be no future for her in that love. No husband, no children, and no one to care for her after Elsa was gone. This thought bothered her. She sighed, ignoring the faint pain in her side. She still had some time left, and who knew? Maybe now that Christine was free, she would find a new love - one without all the memories that had plagued her relationship with Raoul.

Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp knock on her door. Elsa laid her book aside and went to answer it, wondering who could be calling. She opened it to see the handsome face of the vicomte, standing before her. "Sir?" she inquired warily, glad suddenly that Christine was not here to receive him in case he had come to try and persuade her to change her mind. "Christine is out to the market, and won't be back for some time," she explained carefully. Raoul looked down at his hands. "It is actually you that I came to see, Madame. I have something that I wish to discuss with you. It is a matter of a somewhat delicate nature, and though it concerns Christine, I felt it best to discuss it with you first." He bowed slightly awaiting her answer.

She stood back, motioning him inside. After closing the door, she led him to the sitting room, and took a seat on the divan. He sat down opposite her and looked away as he began to speak. "Madame, after the night of the Opera fire, I thought it best to know at all times the whereabouts of Christine's 'Angel of Music' as she called him then. After the violence and destruction I had watched him commit, I felt it necessary to have him followed, for Christine's protection." He paused. "You should know that the men to whom I have entrusted this extraordinarily difficult task have brought me some disconcerting information as of late."

He stood as though he could not sit still with the knowledge weighing so heavily upon him. He turned to her and the pain in his eyes was evident. "He is alive, Madame. My men have seen him. He has been living in a manor outside of the city of Nice this past year, although he has traveled abroad recently. My men assure me that he will be returning soon." Elsa sat in stunned silence, listening to his confession. Pacing before the window, Raoul continued. "I did not know that he was alive when I brought Christine the newspaper article. My associates thought him dead as well, but upon further investigation, discovered he had merely relocated." His hand raked through his hair, as she waited in horror, knowing what he was about to admit, "But I did know he was alive when I asked Christine to marry me. God forgive me, I knew, and I watched her suffer, and still I did not tell her." His head bowed, he turned to her, brokenly. "I had hoped that if she thought him dead, she would be free to love me, as I did her. I truly believed that I could make her happy, far more so than she could ever have been with him."

He sank down beside her, tears in his eyes and shame coloring his aristocratic features. He handed Elsa a piece of paper listing an address in Nice. "I am leaving to fulfill my military assignment in the morning. If anything should happen to me, I entrust this information to your keeping." His voice broke, "You love Christine as much as I, and I know you will do what is best for her."

Elsa took the piece of paper, scarcely believing that the key to Christine's happiness now rested in her trembling hand. She broke from her astonishment, suddenly aware of what giving her this information had cost him. She reached her hand out to cover his, gratitude and sympathy shining in her warm, blue eyes. "No matter what has been done in the past, all has been made right. You must love Christine very much to make this sacrifice for her." Her eyes held his for a moment, and like a mother, she took him in her arms, her heart aching for him. After a moment, she released him and they walked together to the door. As he turned to leave, she said softly, "You have done the right thing, my dear Raoul. True love is not selfish. It holds on when it is necessary, and releases when it is right. God go with you, my young friend." She kissed him gently on both cheeks. He bowed to her, and with a sad smile turned to go.

After closing the door behind him, Elsa stood leaning against it for a moment, contemplating all that had transpired in the last few moments. Christine's Angel was alive! She could scarcely contain her excitement. When the time was right, she would reveal the blessed information to her. Smiling widely, she wondered how she would be able to hide her news from Christine for long. She determined that in the next few months, she would make the necessary preparations, and when she was certain that Christine was strong again, she would give her the information to do with it as she wished.

Her joy dimmed slightly, when she thought of Raoul's anguish as he handed his life over to her hand. Tomorrow, she would go to the cathedral and say two prayers - one for Raoul's safe return and future happiness, and one in thankfulness for God's mercy in granting Christine's prayer at last. The faint twinge in her side erupted into a hot stab of pain as she made her way back to the comfort of the sitting room. _Perhaps I will say one more prayer_, she thought wearily clutching the piece of paper with the address in her hand, _a prayer that I will live long enough to see it all come to pass_.


	16. A Farewell

Ch. 16 - A Farewell

Christine was working in her beloved flower beds once more. The fall sunshine wrapped around, bathing her in its warmth. She lifted her face to thrill in its touch, feeling happier and more content, more whole than she had most of her life. She brushed the dirt from her hands as she stood up, and then bent to retrieve the remarkable bouquet of lilies she had cut. She smiled, knowing Elsa would love them. Lately, her beloved friend hadn't been taking her usual walks through the garden, choosing instead to read in the comfort of the house. This way, Christine thought, she could bring a bit of the garden to her.

As she walked through the French doors, she paused to check her appearance in the mirror that hung in the hallway. The girl she saw there looked familiar once again. The color was back in her cheeks and she had filled out nicely. Although she would always be slender, there was a healthy, elegant curve to her figure now where once there had once been only sharp angles. Her eyes were bright, although they still held a trace of sadness, but she was no more a wraith living between worlds. She had accepted that her fate would be to love a man who could never hold her, and though it pained her sometimes, she was for the most part content.

She went to the kitchen to fetch a vase for her lilies, filling it with water and arranging them carefully, still thinking over the events of the past months. Her relationship with Raoul had, after a time, returned to the easygoing friendship of their childhood, though a faint shadow of past events would always cloud it. All in all, she knew he had made peace with her decision and had forgiven her completely. He still wrote her from time to time, reassuring her that he was alright and telling her of his travels. His letters were always signed, _your devoted friend, Raoul_. And that was truly what he was at last. The nature of their relationship had been clearly defined, and there was a comfort in that knowledge that gave her peace.

Brightly, she entered the sitting room, eager to show her treasures to Elsa, but what she saw there stopped her cold. Elsa was on her knees on the floor, clutching her side, tears in her eyes. A letter lay beside her where she had obviously dropped it in her distress. Christine immediately knelt beside her friend, setting the forgotten lilies on the table next to the divan. "Elsa, what is it?" she asked, panic in her voice. Lately, Elsa had not seemed herself, and Christine feared now that she was seriously ill. Elsa waved a hand to reassure her, as she allowed Christine to help her onto the divan.

She laid her head back against the cushions for a moment, her eyes closed, as if conserving her energy. Remembering the forgotten letter, Christine reached to retrieve it, but Elsa caught her arm. Turning Christine to face her, she took a deep breath, gathering herself in order to appear to have the strength which she knew Christine would need from her in order to endure the news she was about to hear.

Her voice was low and soothing as she held Christine's eyes with her own. "Christine, my love, something has happened, and I want you to hear it from me instead of reading it in a letter." From her tone and the official looking seal on the envelope, Christine knew instantly what terrible tidings the letter held. It was what she had feared from the time her dear friend had left for war. She dropped her eyes and spoke softly, "It is Raoul, isn't it?" Elsa nodded sadly, wishing she could take away all the pain that this poor girl had endured in her young life. _So much death, so much loss_. It was a wonder she had been doing as well as she had, with all the anguish her heart carried. Christine raised her troubled eyes to meet Elsa's at last. "He is dead then?" she whispered. Elsa nodded again, tears in her own eyes as she watched the young face before her, "The letter says that he died a hero in the siege of Paris, sacrificing himself in the service of others." Her heart ached at the poignancy of the statement, aware that the irony would not be lost on Christine. Christine turned her face away, staring numbly out the window, tears gathering in her eyes. "Then he died just as he lived," she said quietly, inwardly wondering when God's punishment would end, for she was not sure how much more she could endure.

The funeral took place a week later. Elsa attended with her, holding her hand tightly throughout the funeral mass. Elsa looked at the poised woman next to her with a mixture of pride and pity. For all she had been through, Christine was becoming a very strong woman. She had cried for the loss of her friend, had mourned him deeply, but the losses in her life did not seem to break her as they once had. She stood tall, her head high, her slight frame clothed all in black as was the custom.

After all others had left the cemetery, Christine, squeezed Elsa's hand, then released it gently. Walking forward, she put her hand on Raoul's gravestone, and laid the lily she had been carrying on the fresh dirt covering his casket. She brushed her fingers to her lips and then touched them to his name carved in the granite of the stone. She smiled as she traced the letters with her gloved hand, and whispered to him softly, "Goodbye my dear friend, and thank you." She stood gracefully, and after one last look, turned back to take Elsa's hand once again.

Later that night, after Christine was in bed, Elsa sat at her desk beginning a very important task. The ache in her side had escalated to a nearly constant searing pain, and after a visit to her doctor, she had confirmed her fears. Despite her weariness, she was determined not to rest until her task was completed. There was an urgency to her plans now that had not been there previously. She finished her letter carefully, and read it through, checking to make sure she had said all that was necessary. She tucked it into a pale cream envelope made of the finest paper, and without sealing it, turned it so the front lay before her. She unlocked a tiny compartment in her desk and withdrew the paper Raoul had given her during his visit so many months ago. Carefully, she copied the address onto the envelope in her lovely, elegant hand.

Satisfied, she surveyed her work. There was only one more thing to be done. She tiptoed quietly into Christine's room. She smiled down at her peaceful sleeping form, and bent to tuck a stray curl behind her ear and kiss her softly on the forehead. Yes, she loved this girl as if she had been her own daughter, which she rightly should have been. And this was her gift to her, the gift that she herself had never been given – a second chance. Reaching quietly up to retrieve the music box from the shelf, she took the tiny golden key from her pocket and unlocked it. She withdrew the charred pages carefully, knowing the value they held.

After replacing the box, she returned to her desk, tucking Christine's honest words behind her own, and sealing the envelope at last. She had spoken with her lawyer after her visit with the doctor, and he assured her all was in order. Thus, her task was nearly complete, which was fortunate, since she felt her time had nearly run out. In the morning, she would turn the letter over to her lawyer, along with her strict instructions.

Elsa laid her head back on her chair, weary now beyond measure. She closed her eyes, smiling as she thought of her gift. Soon, she thought, she would rest, and then she too could have her happy ending.


	17. Return

Ch. 17 – Return

Erik stepped gracefully from the carriage, tipping his hat politely to the driver in thanks, and then turning to look at his house from which he had been absent now for nearly a year. _God, it is good to be home_, Erik thought, as he stepped through the doorway. All was as he had left it, everything spotlessly clean and free from dust, just as he had instructed before he had left. Erik threw his cloak nonchalantly over a chair and tossed his hat onto the sofa, in a casual manner that was quite unlike him. He deposited the plans for his new home safely on the table, where he would be sure to remember them in the morning, though his memory was usually flawless even without such a reminder.

Tomorrow construction would begin on his new manor, now that he was here to oversee it. As fond as he was of this house, the idea of having a home that he had designed to suit his taste appealed to him. It would be grand with an enormous library, a ballroom, and his own personal favorite - a glass-domed conservatory - an acoustically perfect room in which to write and play his compositions. Add to that the fact that his architectural designs had remained, even in his absence, in the highest of demand, continuing to make him rich beyond his imagination, and the favor with which his first new opera had been received, all in his life was going along famously.

He stopped before the glass of the window, catching a glimpse of his reflection. _And then there is the most remarkable gift of all_, he thought silently. The reflection that met his eyes, although not perfect, resembled that of a normal man. He walked into his study, opening his wardrobe to look in the mirror once again, just as he had done nearly a year before. At first, he held his palm up, covering the right side of his face from view, showing only his naturally perfect left cheek. Then slowly, he dropped his hand to reveal an unmasked nearly identical right cheek as well. A whole face met his eyes now, where once there had only been half. Admittedly, his right side would never be perfect. There remained several scars left by the innumerable procedures he had endured, but they would fade in time, just as the insecurity and anguish of his deformity had begun to fade in its absence.

Erik turned from the mirror, still in disbelief even after the many times he had already viewed his new face. He still couldn't believe it all was real, that it all had truly happened to him after all the evil he had done. He left the study and moved into the kitchen, finding the cupboards freshly stocked, just as he had requested. He made himself a cup of tea and sat at the table, watching the sun rise over the water from the window. He had so much to be thankful for suddenly, after all his years of cursing God for abandoning him. Although it would not be easy, he vowed that he would return to the church that very Sunday, offering penance for his past deeds, and giving freely of his newly acquired wealth. For all that God had granted him at last, he would never again miss a Sunday if it was in his power to appear.

Erik stared at the long musician's fingers surrounding his teacup. Her ring was still there. In all his contentment, there was only one thing missing, but he dared not ask for that, lest God's sudden favor toward him be diminished by his greediness. He only wondered now if she was happy. Gone was his anger and wrath, and though he didn't understand all that she had done, all that remained in his heart for her was genuine love and concern. If he could just know she was alright, and that she was happy, if he could just see her smiling face one more time, he thought he would be satisfied.

He was startled from his thoughts by a gentle knock at the door. After his recent streak of good fortune, he smiled wondering what new blessing was coming his way. He cheerfully hurried down the steps to greet it.


	18. An Unexpected Visitor

Ch 18 – An Unexpected Visitor

Erik reached for the door, a faint hope in his heart that his most recent wish had been granted, but when the door swung open, it was golden blonde curls and blue eyes that greeted him, instead of mahogany and chocolate as he had hoped for. Slightly disappointed, but intrigued nonetheless, he remembered his manners and asked politely, "Can I help you, mademoiselle?

The lovely woman before him was elegantly dressed, and had the confidence of nobility about her, but she met his inquiry with a pleasant smile, "Yes, thank you monsieur, I am looking for a Monsieur Erik de Noir. Can you tell me if he is in?" Her voice was soft and pleasant, her diction perfect. Erik's eyebrow rose slightly, wondering what on God's green earth this lovely creature wanted with him. But once again, his perfect manners took control, answering her in his own rich, elegant speech, "I am Monsieur de Noir. In what way can I be of service to you?" he inquired with a short bow.

Her eyes widened. She had been told that the man she was to meet was deformed and horrible, that he wore a mask to avoid the stares of others. Why, the man before her was handsome! Upon closer inspection, she could indeed make out several scars on the right side of his face, but still he was in no way the hideous figure that had been described to her. And the resemblance was striking. Helena wondered that no one had ever noticed it before.

She shook her head to bring her mind back to her errand. With a degree of formality, she replied, "Monsieur de Noir, my business is of a private nature. Would you mind terribly if we were to step inside before we discuss it?" Erik's eyebrow rose even higher, if possible, as if it would leap from his face at her request, but with another short bow, he assented, "As you wish, mademoiselle. Please, come in."

He stepped out of her way so she could enter, and in a gentlemanly fashion, helped her remove her heavy fur wrap, draping it over a chair.

The golden woman made her way up the stairs into his sitting room, taking in her surroundings with a mixture of awe and pleasure. This man's taste was flawless. The furnishings were rich and elegant, and the entire room was as neat as a pin - not the typical residence of a bachelor in her limited experience. He gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa, choosing to seat himself in the leather chair opposite her. He stretched his long legs easily before him, and with his dark good looks and lean grace, he reminded her of an exotic jungle cat. She shivered involuntarily. She had been prepared to make her offer to a monster. The fact that the monster happened to be a very intriguing and sensually appealing man had thrown her momentarily. Her head remained high, but her hands twisted somewhat nervously in her lap.

Erik watched her hands. He remembered that Christine used to do that same thing whenever she was nervous. His intense gray-blue eyes drifted back to her elegant, sculpted face. He wondered again what business she had with him that was making her so nervous, but he waited patiently for her to explain.

She took a deep breath and began. "Monsieur, de Noir..."

"Erik," he interrupted.

"Erik," she began again, "You were familiar with the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, were you not?"

His eyes narrowed and he frowned slightly, but he answered her evenly, "Yes, I knew him once, although we were not on amicable terms when I last saw him." _That was an understatement_, he thought with an inward snort. The last time he had seen that miserable fop it had been at the end of a noose. "Why do you ask?" He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable already at the direction the conversation appeared to be taking.

"As you may or may not know, the Vicomte de Chagny was killed during the siege of Paris, this past spring." She watched him, gauging his reaction before continuing. Though his face remained expressionless, she thought she saw a faint trace of shock register in his eyes.

Erik repeated her words slowly, "The Vicomte is dead?" He hadn't known. He hadn't picked up a newspaper since the night he had discovered their engagement announcement.

The woman continued, "I am Mademoiselle Helena de Chagny. Raoul's father and my mother were brother and sister; thus, I was his cousin. As you are most likely aware, Raoul's elder brother Philippe was the Comte de Chagny for many years. After Raoul's death, the Comte was devastated. His health had been failing for some time, due to a long battle with influenza this past winter. The sorrow, combined with his weakness was too much for his already frail body, and just recently, he too passed away, leaving no further heir to the de Chagny title."

Erik was intrigued, but still did not understand what a de Chagny, and a beautiful one at that was doing in his sitting room. "Mademoiselle, forgive me, but I still fail to understand how this concerns me."

Helena drew in another deep breath. This would not be easy. She kept her voice steady as she continued to explain. "I am getting to that. Just before Philippe's death, he asked to speak with me in private. He explained to me that there was, in fact, another who held a claim to the de Chagny name. Philippe was a good man, and an honest one, and I could see how it pained him to share with me a secret that he had held for nearly forty years." For a moment, a faint sadness flickered over her face and she looked at her hands folded carefully in her lap.

With a deep sigh, she looked up to face him, her eyes full of regret. "Philippe confided to me that his father, my grandfather had been in love with another woman, a commoner, before he met his wife. His family was naturally appalled, but an even greater scandal was brought about when he announced that the girl was pregnant. In his youth and love, he wished to marry her, but his family would not allow it. He stubbornly refused to marry any of the more suitable women they paraded before him, claiming that if he could not marry the woman he loved, he would not marry at all. The girl gave birth, but the labor was difficult and she did not survive. In my grandfather's grief, he was in no state to tend to a child that night. His parents, assuring him that the child would be taken care of, spirited him away and quickly arranged a marriage to a woman of suitable social standing. When he returned after a year abroad with a new wife and a child – a future heir to the de Chagny title, no one thought anything of it. The illusion was complete. But unbeknownst to him, or anyone else except his parents, a second child had been born that night as well." Here she paused for a moment, unsure how to form the words she dreaded to utter. Her hands were shaking.

Erik had a feeling of vague impending dread. He still had no idea how this whole twisted story of scandal and intrigue related to him, and he wasn't sure now if he wanted to know. He stood abruptly and walked to the window, uncertain why he was so troubled by her tale.

Helena's spoke the next words gently, as if to soften the emotional blow that she knew would accompany them. "I am afraid my family has committed a grievous wrong against you, monsieur." Erik's head snapped up. "The second baby born that night was another healthy boy, but this boy had a deformity, the right side of his face was disfigured..." Her words trailed off, knowing the rest would be easy to surmise. She wrung her hands once again in her lap, wishing suddenly that someone else could have been appointed this horrible task.

Erik kept his back carefully turned from her so she could not see his reaction to her words. His mind was awhirl in a raging tide of thoughts and emotions. His hands gripped the frame of the window so tightly he felt it would crumble beneath his fingers. The pieces all fit with what he knew, but still, he had to hear the rest. In a tightly controlled voice he spoke with his back still turned to her, "I see. Please continue."

Helena's voice shook openly now as she finished the story of her family's shameful secret. "My grandfather's parents were convinced the deformity was a mark of the devil, a punishment for their son's dalliances outside the bonds of marriage. They quickly decided to have the baby taken by a servant to an orphanage nearby. There, they kept careful tabs on his whereabouts for several years, in order to protect the family name from scandal. However, the boy ran away from the orphanage, and my grandfather's parents eventually died. The secret remained hidden. Then, one day the servant who had been appointed to take the child to the orphanage and watch over him confessed on his deathbed to my grandfather that there had been a second child. My grandfather searched desperately, hiring private investigators, but the boy could not be found." She paused for a moment to catch her breath.

"Before he died, my grandfather wrote a letter to his attorney giving him all the information that he knew about the existence of the child, instructing him to eventually pass the information on to his other son, Philippe, when he was of age. The attorney did as he was instructed, and Philippe set about completing the task that his father had begun. He once again hired private investigators, and eventually learned that the boy had been taken by gypsies, and that was where the trail ended for a time. However, after Raoul began describing the events of the Opera House, Philippe had a suspicion that the mysterious masked man of Raoul's descriptions and his lost twin might be one and the same. He set to work, attempting to find the truth, but the process was slow and the events of the Opera House disaster stalled progress for a time, as Philippe was unsure if he should proceed. However, after Raoul's death, and with the decline of his own health, Philippe doubled his efforts, desperate that his lost brother might regain his birthright. In the end, he was successful, and the documents that I have brought with me today led him to you, monsieur. He gave them to me just before his death, asking that I convey them to you, along with his humblest apologies for the reprehensible actions of our ancestors."

Helena stared desperately at the strong back of the man before her, willing him to understand, to forgive. In a lower voice, she added, "He regretted very deeply that he never had the chance to know you, monsieur. As I said, Philippe was a good man, and an honorable one. He would have welcomed you into the family with open arms, even if others before him had not." She waited for him to turn around, to respond somehow, but his stony silence dominated the room for many long moments.

Finally, when she had begun to wonder whether she should leave and come back later, he turned slightly, and asked her quietly, "So you are telling me that I am the twin brother of Philippe de Chagny, and now heir to the title of Comte and the entire de Chagny fortune?" He unconsciously held his breath as he awaited her answer.

"Yes, it is true. My mother died long ago, and you are eldest blood relation." She paused. "You would also have been half brother to Raoul de Chagny, though I understand you were not fond of one another." This fact seemed a pity to her. She would have liked to have thought that the three brothers would have been close, if Fate had been kind.

Turning back to the window, Erik asked the question that burned above all the others raging in his mind, "What of the Vicomte's wife? Would she not be entitled to something of his estate?" He kept his voice even, carefully controlled so as not to inform her of his undeniable interest in the Vicomtesse.

Helena cocked her head to one side quizzically, her voice belying her confusion. "Wife, monsieur? Raoul never married. He had no wife when he died."

Erik's heart nearly leapt from his chest, and his breath caught in his throat. No matter his efforts, his voice wavered slightly as he pushed for more information. "No, that is not possible. I saw the wedding announcement myself when I was abroad in a Paris newspaper." He stood rigid, awaiting her explanation.

Helena nodded in sudden understanding, "Yes, monsieur, a wedding was planned, but on the day of the ceremony, the engagement was broken. No one knew why at the time. There were rumors, but I do not know which of them held the truth." She didn't understand his fascination with Raoul's marital status, but she attributed his interest to the overwhelming amount of information he was being asked to take in and absorb in a short period of time. It would be too much for most people, she thought, but this dark, mysterious man seemed as if he could handle anything that life laid upon him.

Quite in contrast to his outwardly composed appearance, internally Erik felt as if he had been part of a train wreck. His thoughts were jumbled, each stumbling over the other, competing for priority in his mind. He needed time to think, to sort through all that she had told him. He needed to be alone. It was how he had spent most of his life, and it was still how he preferred to deal with difficulty, having never known the luxury of sharing his burdens with another.

He finally turned from the window, walking toward her at last, his face once again unreadable, "Mademoiselle, I thank you for bringing this information to my attention. I know it was not an easy task, and I admire your courage in completing it so nobly." This, he was surprised to admit to himself, was true. He raised his eyes to hers and continued, 'But as I am sure you understand, I may need some time to...fully comprehend and appreciate all that you have told me tonight." He hoped she would not think him rude for hinting that she leave so obviously.

Helena stood, understanding that he wished to be alone. She withdrew from her handbag a large envelope and a small card, handing them both to him. "These are the documents that I spoke of. I will leave them for you to review." She pointed to the card. "This is the name and address of the inn where I will be staying for some time, until my family business here is complete. Please contact me in the near future, so that I can introduce you to our family attorney. As I am sure you can guess, there are many details in the distribution of the estate and of the running of the many family business ventures that will require your prompt attention, should you choose to accept your rightful position among us." Her brilliant blue eyes were kind as she reached for his hand, "I would be honored to have you as my cousin, monsieur Eric de Noir," she paused, "or should I say, Comte Erik Alexander Frederick de Chagny?" With another brilliant smile, she left him standing dazed as he watched her carriage retreating into the darkness which had long since fallen. He could still smell her perfume.


	19. Acceptance

**NOTE: **This chapter is one of my favorites as it is truly my dark obsession gone wild. I'm afraid some of my own "phantasies" crept in. Oh well, I am sure all of you phangirls out there will enjoy this chapter!

Ch.19 - Acceptance

Somehow Erik made it up the steps and into his bedroom before collapsing in exhaustion. He removed his silk cravat, and unbuttoned his shirt slightly, hoping to encourage his body to take in more oxygen, as he felt that he had been unable to breathe properly for several hours now. Erik opened the balcony door, allowing the spring breeze to embrace him. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, thinking that what he really needed was a hot bath to soothe his knotted muscles, and allow him a measure of solitude in which to replay the revelations of the past day. He opened the door to his bathroom, and drew a steaming bath. Removing his clothing, he sank into the scented water, enjoying the heat on his skin. For so many years, that skin had been unnaturally pale, due to his inhabitance below ground. However, after his treatments had been completed, he had taken a month-long trip to the Riviera, as something of a reward to himself for his endurance through the long ordeal. As a result, nearly his entire body now was a healthy tan color, although his modesty had been too great to allow him entire freedom from clothing, unlike many others he had encountered there.

As he lay soaking away his tension, his mind slowly began to unravel the twisted thoughts of the day, one by one, sorting through them and filing them away. _Erik, Comte de Chagny_? He snorted derisively. He would never have imagined himself a noble, and most definitely not of the same blood as that ridiculous boy, always playing Christine's white knight to his evil genius.

Yet, as he remembered Helena's words, his heart softened a bit for the brothers and the father he had never known. He had always believed that his father had run off before he was born and that his mother had abandoned him to the orphanage because she couldn't live with the ugliness of his face. That was what one of the older children in the orphanage had told him. The other children there had been horribly cruel to him, jealous of his talent for pleasing the headmistress with his music and for answering every question correctly during their lessons. They had tormented him relentlessly, often tearing his mask from his face and throwing it back and forth between them, relinquishing it only after the headmistress paddled them all soundly.

Erik closed his eyes remembering how he had run away from one hell, only to enter one far worse – taken by gypsies and forced to become part of their display of freaks, with his own face as the main attraction.

He pushed the unhappy memories away from his mind, and began to think instead of what he knew now. He had a father who had wanted him, even knowing of his deformity – a father who had searched for him until the time of his own death when he had passed the search on to his son. _My brother_, Erik thought wonderingly. Even knowing of his sins inside the Opera Populaire, Philippe had continued to search for him so that he might restore his birthright and help him to take his rightful place in the family.

Tears gathered in Erik's eyes. He had a family, and that family wanted him. He had been born of love, his mother had not abandoned him, and he had once had a father and brother that had cared enough to search for him. That thought was like a salve to Erik's wounded soul, healing so many hurts that had existed there as long as he could remember. Even the grandparents who had reviled him he could forgive, now that all had been made right. It was enough.

There was one item of Helena's revelations that still troubled him, however. Christine's marriage, or rather lack of one. If she had been free all this time, why had she not sought him out? If Philippe knew that he was not dead, that must surely mean that Raoul knew as well, which in turn should have meant that Christine was most likely aware of it. He sighed. Perhaps she wanted to believe he was dead. It certainly would simplify her life. And of course, she had rejected his love once before. Why should he think that just because she chose not marry the Vicomte, she would come running back to the one whom she had cast aside so easily before? He ran his hands through his dark hair in order to rinse the soap from it, then stood and stepped lightly from the tub, wrapping himself in a towel.

He walked back into the bedroom, holding the towel around his waist with one hand, and reaching to light a candle with the other. What was that infernal racket downstairs, he wondered? With a start, he realized it was someone knocking...no, pounding on his front door. With a muttered curse he reached for a robe from his wardrobe. While certainly not presentable for polite company, he wrapped it around himself hurriedly. He was thinking blackly that the unwelcome party at the door would have to anticipate that at such an ungodly hour he would most likely not be dressed appropriately. He stormed down to the door in an absolute temper, angry for the disruption in his thoughts, and cursing his decision suddenly to return to society. He flew down the stairs to the front door and threw it open rudely, ready to assail his intruder with a verbal assault relating to the etiquette surrounding the proper time frame of social calls. To his amazement, there stood the lovely Helena, her fist still raised from her last knock.

Helena's eyes were wide with shock as she took in the murderous expression and unusually casual appearance of the man before her. His hair was damp, and curled slightly at the nape of his neck. He wore only a robe of deepest blue that served to highlight the golden tan of his body beneath it. Every muscle of his lean masculine frame stood outlined in the fine fabric that clung slightly to his skin, which was still damp. Where his robe remained open at neck, she could see his well muscled chest and the sparse dark hair that covered it. _Good lord, he is beautiful,_ she thought with a sigh.

Suddenly realizing she had been shamelessly ogling her angry host for nearly a minute now, she blushed a deep crimson and stammered an explanation. "My handbag," she squeaked. "I forgot it here earlier. I...I apologize deeply for the intrusion at this late hour, monsieur, but the key to my room and all of my money is inside of it. I...I had nowhere to go..." She trailed off in embarrassment.

Erik managed to nod and turned inside to retrieve her handbag from the sofa. He wondered vaguely why he had not noticed it there earlier. He stepped back to the door, wrapping his robe a little more securely around himself, suddenly acutely aware that he wore nothing underneath. This time when he reached the door, she was staring in deep concentration at the walkway below her feet as if it were the most interesting subject in the world. Erik could not help a slightly amused grin. He held her handbag out to her. Her cheeks blushed scarlet again as she briefly met his eyes, reaching for her bag. She murmured a quick 'thank you' and nearly ran down the walk to her carriage.

Erik closed the door, bemused by her reaction. If he had not known better, he would have thought she had been momentarily attracted to him. The same woman who had been so self-assured mere hours before had seemed as an awkward school girl just now. Of course, Erik reasoned, she was young and unmarried, so it was logical that she had probably never seen a man in such a state of undress before. Still, remembering the loveliness of her face with its maidenly blush, he secretly treasured her reaction. He was not accustomed to young ladies being attracted to his appearance, quite the opposite in fact.

As Erik climbed the stairs to his bedroom once more, he realized that he was bone jarringly tired. He was no longer a young man, a thought he didn't care to dwell on, although his body was more fit than those of many men half his age. As he reached his bedroom at last, he extinguished the candle, removed his robe, and slipped in among the fine sheets. Yes, this day had given him much to think about. Yet as his damp head met the pillow, sleep quickly overcame all thought.


	20. Confessions

Ch. 20 – Confessions

Christine wheeled Elsa through the gardens, as the autumn wind tossed the leaves about playfully. The day was brisk, but the fall sunshine shone brilliantly, and the sky was a deep azure blue. Elsa could no longer walk in her beloved garden anymore. Even in her wheelchair, she tired easily. Christine swallowed the lump in her throat as she remembered the words of the doctor, "_Cancer, I'm afraid. There is nothing I can do. It has spread throughout her body. She hasn't much time..." _Christine forced her voice to remain cheerful, pointing out different kinds of birds in the trees and telling little anecdotes from her life in the ballet dormitories. Elsa raised a hand, reaching up to pat Christine's own behind her. "My dear, would you mind terribly if we go inside. I'm feeling a bit weary." Christine quickly obliged her, calling a trusted servant to lift her beloved friend and carry her up the enormous stairway to her room.

When Christine was satisfied that Elsa was comfortable, she turned to leave, but Elsa touched her arm to stop her. "Darling, I am feeling much better now, and I would love for us to have one of our chats, just like we used to in the garden." Those brilliant blue eyes full of kindness and intelligence that Christine had come to adore were alert and adamant, so there could be no question of argument.

Christine drew a chair alongside the bed and sat down to face her dear friend. Her soft eyes took in the pallor of Elsa's normally pink cheeks and flawless skin. No, it would not be long, she thought sadly. She brushed Elsa's fine white hair back from her handsome face. It occurred to her that all through their relationship, Elsa had always been the caretaker, lending Christine her strength. Now in Elsa's last days, Christine was determined to return the favor to the woman who had been so like a mother to her these past few years. She waited patiently for Elsa to speak, knowing the effort was difficult for her.

"My darling Christine," Elsa began, tears gathering in her eyes. _Oh, how I will miss this sweet child when I at last leave this world_, she thought. Christine took her hand, stroking it soothingly as Elsa had so often done for her after a nightmare. Elsa seemed to regain her composure, beginning again, keeping her words careful and even, "There are some secrets that are meant to be taken to the grave, and there are others that need to see the light of day, so that they may cease to haunt us at last. It has come time for me to tell you two secrets, both of which I am afraid may come as quite a shock to you, but both which I believe in time you will come to understand and accept." She closed her eyes for a moment, and then touched Christine's cheek. "The first has to do with your dear father." She watched Christine for signs of her reaction, but Christine merely squeezed her hand, urging her to say what had troubled her for so long. Elsa continued, "Remember when we had our talk in the garden on the very first day after you arrived?" Christine nodded slowly. "I told you then that I understood your position perhaps too well. I understood because I too had been divided once between two great loves. The first being my eventual husband, dear Arthur, and the second being your father." Christine seemed mildly surprised, but waited patiently for her to continue.

Elsa sighed wearily, "I was betrothed to my future husband from the time I was very young. Our families often spent time together, and we became close friends, unaware that we were one day to be husband and wife. When I was thirteen, my mother informed me of the engagement, and when I was fifteen, it was announced formally. Arthur left for a time, to attend training as a member of the Royal Guard, while I studied different subjects from my home with the assistance of various tutors." Her eyes flickered with memories from long ago. "My music tutor was a particularly gifted man, a genius, if you will. He was a young widower who had recently emigrated from Sweden with a young daughter to raise." Christine's eyes filled with tears as she began to understand. "He was so good, so honest, so devoted to you. Even in my youth, I felt drawn to his sadness, to his brilliance, to his music. Before long, we were both so in love, we knew not what to do." Elsa looked down at the wedding band that still adorned her left hand.

"It was hopeless, we both knew it, and yet we were powerless to stop it. Your father was an honorable man, and he knew I was pledged to another, so he kept his distance out of respect for me and for Arthur. Eventually, Arthur returned home and the wedding was arranged. Your father came to me on my wedding day, to release me, to give me his blessing for a happy marriage. After he left, I called for Arthur, intending to confess everything to him, but when he came, all I could think of was my dear childhood friend, whom I also loved." She looked at Christine intently, "You see, my dear, I did not at that time, have the courage that you had, the strength to speak the truth, no matter what consequences it may bring. And the ruin that it brought upon me and my two loves was most ruthless. I was miserable in my marriage at first, and Arthur was desperate to please me. He remembered that I had been so very happy during my study of music, and so he suggested unknowingly that we become your father's patrons. God forgive me, I could not resist the idea of having him so close, even if we could never share one embrace."

Elsa's head dropped in shame and remorse, tears finally spilling down her soft cheeks. "I brought about our destruction, all of ours, with my unfaithfulness. My heart and body belonged to my husband, but my mind and soul belonged to your father. It ate away at us all, until eventually both Arthur and your father became very ill. I lost them both within mere months of each other. I accepted it as my punishment from God that I should continue to live on without either of the men I had loved so desperately, knowing that it was my weakness and dishonesty that had brought about their suffering." She sobbed helplessly, as if her secret had been burning her inside all these years, and the pain of it had finally become unbearable. She raised her still lovely face up to meet Christine's eyes, silently pleading, her voice breaking, "My dear, my deepest regret is that of all the people I hurt with my actions, it was you who suffered most of all. Because of me, you lost your father, the man who had been your life for so long." She turned away in shame. Her sobbing had ceased, and she stared at the wall lost in thought, seeming very fragile, and finally looking her age.

Christine took a moment to collect all her scrambled thoughts. What she had heard tonight had surely come as a shock to her, and yet it in some ways it had not. When she looked back now, it all made sense. The lovely teas in the garden, just her, her father, and Elsa; the anguished looks between the two that as a child she had not understood - all of it finally fit together. Christine looked up, and this time, it was she who took Elsa's chin in her hand and turned it gently to face her. Her eyes shining with tears, she whispered softly, "You took nothing from me, Elsa. As you told me once, your only sin was in not knowing your own heart. You loved my father; that is no sin to me, and his death was caused by consumption, not by your decision to marry another. You have given me the greatest gift I could ever have been given – a mother. You are the only mother I have ever known, and I think perhaps God put you in my father's life for that very purpose. You have given me so much, Elsa. I could never condemn you for what you have done only out of the love of your generous heart. Thank you, dear friend, for everything." Christine smiled at her lovingly, no hint of reproof in her dark eyes, only understanding.

For a moment, Elsa was silent, then quietly she whispered, "Thank you, Christine, you do not know what it means to hear that from the very girl I have always considered to be as an adopted daughter to me." Elsa leaned forward, hugging Christine to her, silently thanking her for her understanding and acceptance. She pulled back at last, "I love you, darling Christine, and I so wish for you to be happy..." she trailed off fingering one of Christine's curls absently. Then suddenly, her eyes lit up and a knowing smile dawned across her face, making her seem once again the lovely and energetic woman she had always been. "Ah yes, and now for the second secret," her eyes sparkled with excitement, "and it is a wonderful one!"

She reached over to the drawer in the nightstand alongside her bed and pulled a familiar piece of paper from it. With her hands trembling, she put the piece of paper securely into Christine's hand, closing her fingers around it tightly as if it were a rare jewel. Christine opened her hand slowly and stared at the paper, reading what appeared to be an address. After a moment, she looked up at Elsa with an obvious question in her eyes.

Elsa's smile broadened, "I wish I could claim this gift, Christine, but in truth it is Raoul's gift to you that was entrusted to my keeping for a time." She sought Christine's eyes, wanting to savor every second of her reaction to the news she was about to receive. Grasping Christine's hands in hers, with her eyes never leaving her face she spoke carefully, "That address in your hand, my dear is where you may find your Angel at last." Christine's face was blank for a moment, but then her eyes registered confusion and shock. She wondered fleetingly if her friend had somehow lost her sanity in the wake of her illness. Christine stood slowly, "I think I will call for the doctor, Elsa. I do not believe you are well." She shook her head. "My Angel is dead. He has been dead for over two years now. It cannot be possible..." And yet, even though she said the words with absolute certainty, hope began to spread through her body like a drug.

Elsa laughed, her delight in Christine's reaction erasing all memory of her pain earlier in the evening. "I know, you goose, and I am in perfect control of my mental faculties, thank you very much." She giggled like a young girl. "I'm sorry my dear, but I am so happy for you, I am afraid I am not able to make much sense." She composed herself and tried once more to explain. "For whatever reason, your Angel obviously wanted you and everyone else to believe he was dead. But Raoul hired men to keep track of him following the disaster at the Opera House, and they assured him shortly after the article was published that he was very much alive."

Tears began to stream down Christine's face now, as she dared to believe her ears. "Apparently, your Angel is now a highly acclaimed architect and composer who is doing quite well for himself, living in a lovely manor on the sea outside the city of Nice."

Elsa had quieted now, calming from her giddy excitement, and instead sat enjoying the waves of joy that she watched wash over Christine's face. She read and reread the address as if it might disappear and she needed to memorize it, just in case. She looked up at Elsa with a brilliant smile and sheer unadulterated joy radiated from her. She glowed with it. It at once occurred to Elsa that she had never seen Christine as truly happy as she was in that moment. That alone was enough for her to know she had done the right thing. Whatever this man's sins, there must be a great deal of good in him as well for him to inspire such adoration in this extraordinary young woman's eyes.

A searing stab of pain ripped through her body, but she steadied herself so that Christine would not see. There was something more she needed to say. Elsa suddenly grew very serious and lifted Christine's face to meet her eyes. "Christine, promise me something. After I am gone, promise me you will find this man and tell him all that you told me. No matter how he reacts to your return, this man loved you once, and he loves you still. Promise me you will not let yourself be parted from him again. Fight for him, if you have to, but do not let him go. If you can promise me that much, I can die in peace knowing you will be happy and cared for." Christine felt frightened by the finality of Elsa's sudden strong words, but she nodded solemnly, promising truthfully that she would do all in her power to find him and claim his love at last.

The excitement of the evening had drained Elsa, and now that it was over, her exhaustion was evident. Christine carefully tucked her in, and then gently placed a kiss on the older woman's soft forehead, whispering simply, "Thank you Elsa. Good night." Silently, she left the room.

Alone in her bed at last, Elsa sighed deeply. Her work was complete. Christine would be happy, of that she was certain. All her secrets were revealed, and all her ties to this world were severed. With a sigh and a smile, she closed her eyes to rejoin her two lost loves at last.


	21. A Strange Request

Ch. 21 – A Strange Request

After the funeral, there was much to be done. As Elsa's sole heir, her estate and all of her possessions were left to Christine. At her final meeting with Elsa's attorney, he had also informed her of a lovely seaside estate that Elsa had recently purchased that would now be hers as well. "It's in a lovely area. Nice is a beautiful city," he had remarked. Christine once again marveled at both her dear friend's thoughtfulness and her generosity. It was Elsa's way of making sure she kept her promise, which she fully intended to once all affairs were in order. As she turned to leave the lawyer's office, he coughed slightly, causing her to pause in the doorway. "Ah, mademoiselle, I realize it is an odd request, but Madame Valerius insisted that you should notify me when you leave for the cottage in Nice." He seemed embarrassed, but continued hurriedly, "There is a task I must perform at her request, and she left explicit instructions that I was not to complete it until the day that you left for Nice."

Christine looked at him quizzically, "Can you tell me what this task is, monsieur?" He looked embarrassed once again, but shook his head emphatically, "No, I do apologize, mademoiselle, but she was most adamant that no one should know of this errand, and I am bound by duty to do as she requested." He looked at her pleadingly.

Christine suppressed a giggle at his obvious discomfort. "Go ahead then, good monsieur. Let dear Elsa have her secrets once more. You have my word. On the day that I depart, I will send word to you immediately. Goodbye, monsieur, and thank you again."

Christine made her way gracefully down the steps to the awaiting carriage. There were but a few more things to see to, and then there would be nothing in the world that could keep her from finding her Angel and making him hers at last. She smiled, directing it heavenward. "Elsa, my dear friend, I wonder what other surprises you have planned for me in Nice." The carriage rattled away back to the manor, as Christine continued to smile. There were many preparations to be made, but very soon, she would be on her way.

As she walked through the doors of the place that had been her home more than any other place on earth aside from the opera house long ago, she closed her eyes as if to feel Elsa's loving presence once again. She would keep the house. It was her tie to her adopted mother, and she had no need of the money. She had arranged to keep a gardener and a small staff so that the house and grounds might be kept in their current perfect condition. She had also arranged for Elsa's clothing to be given to charity, as she knew Elsa would have wished. Most of the jewelry she had sold, donating the money to the church. She had kept one or two pieces that held special sentimental value, wanting some piece of Elsa that she could carry with her on her journey.

After two more days of work and preparation, all loose ends had been tied up, and there was nothing more to be done. All her possessions were packed, but Christine prolonged her departure yet one more night. That evening, she took one last stroll through Elsa's beloved gardens, taking in the beautiful summer twilight. After all her years of longing, she was suddenly struck with fear at the prospect of finally seeing her Angel again after all that had passed between them. What if he could not forgive her? How could she make him believe in her utter love and devotion after she had so cruelly rejected him before? As she remembered the tumultuousness of their earlier encounters, she wondered if she were strong enough at last to withstand the depths of his passion and genius. He had always overwhelmed her with his brilliance...and with his darkness. Was she ready to be engulfed by him once again?

She walked along the path quietly, feeling the sensual summer breeze flow over her skin, remembering long musician's fingers, and gray-blue eyes burning with the flames of love and desire. Her eyes closed, and her body shook in sweet anticipation. Yes, she was ready. She had never been more ready for anything in her life.

She opened her eyes and stared out into the deepening night around her. _But will I be ready if he should refuse me?_ The tiny voice of doubt spilled its venom into her mind, paralyzing her. If she lost him again, she wasn't sure she could recover. But at once she imagined Elsa there, soothing her as always, and telling her with certainty that he would not refuse her, and even if he did, that she was strong enough now to survive on her own.

Encouraged by Elsa's spirit, seeming as always to urge her forward, she resolved that come what may, she would leave in the morning. In three days time, she would finally see him after three years of longing. The idea sent a shiver of anticipation through her entire body.


	22. A Proposal

**A/N:** I love Erik in this chapter. But then again, I love Erik all the time. Helena is my creation, and I like her a lot. She is a nice foil to Christine's character – not near as wishy washy. Christine, however, has grown up a lot since the events of the Opera Populaire. Ah, but whom will our fated hero choose? On with the story...

Ch. 22 – A Proposal

In the months following the unexpected revelation of his heritage, Erik's life had began to blossom as he would never have believed it could. He had accepted his title and his family name, becoming legally, Comte Erik Alexander Frederick de Chagny once and for all. He had visited the graves of his parents and his brothers, stopping to lay a white rose on the grave of Philippe, his twin whom he had never known. His architectural designs were now the most highly sought after in the whole of Europe. His third opera had been published and was the talk of the France, now being performed as far away as America, last he had heard. He was the head of the vast de Chagny empire, and he suddenly found himself with a gaggle of extended family members where he had once had none - all of them seeming genuinely eager to welcome him into their hearts, though it was true that all except Helena knew nothing of his former life as the Opera Ghost. With his new face and the general acceptance of the Phantom's death, he seemed thankfully free of that shadow forever.

Perhaps most fulfilling of all, the home that he had designed for himself was nearing completion. As he walked through its magnificent hallways, he felt he would burst with pride. He had been a ruthless taskmaster, his taste for perfection driving the members of his work crew to near insanity at times, but in the end his demanding presence had forced them to excel in their work to a level which he would never have believed possible. He stepped into the conservatory, the magnificent grand piano sitting exactly in the center, the focal point of the room. High above it, a domed ceiling, made entirely of stained glass, and etched into the glass, carved figures of delicate, ethereal angels lifting their magnificent voices to the heavens in song.

Even if Christine would never see his tribute to her, he was glad he had decided in the end to retain the little touches he had added to his design on her behalf. He was at peace with her memory now, and as he walked through his home, the tiny details he had added to please her only served to help him remember her.

The rest of his furniture would arrive soon, along with his newly hired household staff, and by the end of the week, his new home would be ready. He smiled a smile of deep satisfaction. Behind him, he could hear familiar footsteps, and his smile deepened as he recognized the sound. "Helena, come join me as I explore my new home." His eyes twinkled with delight, as he turned to face her. In a voice that could only be described as playful, something that he never was, he declared with boyish pleasure, "If I hadn't designed it myself, I would fear becoming lost!" Happy that she was there to share his excitement, Erik impulsively swept Helena into his arms and swung her around, setting her down blushing and breathless beside him. If his melancholy demeanor had been attractive to her, this jovial, playful, boyish side to him was irresistible.

Unable to control the urge any longer, Helena reached up, swiftly claiming his smiling lips in a kiss. Erik's reaction was one first of disbelief, and then of complete confusion. While he enjoyed Helena's company immensely, and considered her now to be his closest friend, he had never imagined that anything more might come of it. Although her kiss could have been most enjoyable, he found that it distressed him to think of the complications it would mean for their previously relaxed relationship. And there was something else too, a vague feeling of betrayal towards the love he had held for so long. Gently, he ended her kiss, lifting her shoulders and holding her at arms length for a time. Finally, deeming it was safe, he dropped his hands to his sides, and gazed at her awkwardly. Feeling he should say something, he began, "Helena, I..."

Her fingers moved to his lips, stopping him before he could speak. "No, my darling Erik, this time, it is I who will speak." She dropped her fingers from his lips and moved them instead to gently touch his cheek, her clear blue eyes holding his with a soft intensity, so that he was, in fact, rendered speechless. "Erik, I think you have known that from the first night we met, I have been attracted to you. The more I learn of you, the more time I spend with you, the deeper in love with you I fall."

She smiled sadly at the hopelessness of her plight as she read her answer in his eyes. "My love, I know your heart has always belonged to another, but perhaps in time, you might learn to love again, if you would only allow yourself the chance." She dropped her hand uncertainly, lowering her gaze. She had laid herself bare, and now felt vulnerable, having received nothing in return.

Erik moved to comfort her instinctively. He had never meant to cause her pain. He was simply inexperienced in interpreting the thoughts of women, and was angry at himself that he had not been more aware of her feelings. Helena took desperate refuge in his arms for a moment, then, collecting herself, she pulled away. Drawing herself to her full height, with her head held high, she brought her eyes up to meet his, becoming once again the proud noble woman he remembered from their first meeting. Her tone was formal as she addressed him now, seeming strange after the intimacy of their exchange just moments before.

"Erik, I came here to make you an offer. As you know, our family is of great importance to me. You and I are now all that remain of a proud bloodline that dates back to before this country was formed. If we were to unite our two strands of that bloodline, we would be able to ensure its security for the future. By combining our fortunes, we could return the de Chagny name to all its splendor of the past." She took a deep breath. "My proposition is this: marry me, and together we will rebuild this great family, and help it to live on for generations to come." Her tone softened, and she looked into his eyes, her feelings clear for him to see as she added, "And perhaps we might even find love along the way." She turned from him swiftly and with her head high, left him standing dumbstruck. Erik thought vaguely that she seemed to have a distinct talent for doing just that.

In his room later that evening, Erik could not sleep. Tossing and turning long into the night, he finally gave up the effort, and chose instead to lay staring at his bedroom ceiling. He couldn't accept Helena's offer, could he? Despite his harsh exterior, he was somewhat of a romantic at heart and had always believed he would marry for love, not for wealth or to ensure a bloodline. And yet, Helena was offering him her love as well. But as to what he felt for her, he was still uncertain.

He turned onto his side, a storm of emotions raging inwardly. Helena was a beautiful and confident woman. Well-bred, sophisticated, yet courageous and kind – any man would be fortunate to call her his wife. He enjoyed her company immensely, and it pained him to know that he had hurt her by not responding to her kiss. But what could he do? She knew that his heart had always belonged to Christine, would always belong to her. Yet she had still made him her offer, willing to take what he could give, hoping for more in time should he find himself able to give it.

This very moment, for once in his life, he wished he had someone to talk to, someone who could help him sort out this mess. He felt utterly unqualified in such matters, having had very little experience with women in the nearly thirty-seven years of his life. Would what he had to offer her be enough? And could he live with himself if he betrayed the love for Christine that he had clung to for so many years?

Looking at the second pillow of his enormous bed, he thought at once how wonderful it would be to have someone lying there, someone who cared for him that he could hold on a night like tonight. Christine would always be first in his heart, but what good would it do to hold onto a memory forever, one that could not hold him in return?

With a sudden recklessness, he decided he would risk it. If Helena would still have him, he was ready to open his heart once again. Perhaps this was God's way of making up for the loss of Christine - by opening the door to something new and unexpected. As he stretched out peacefully at last, his decision made, sleep came quickly to claim him.


	23. Preparations

**A/Ns:** romancebookworm4ever – I thank you for your devoted following and reviews! I am glad you like it. However I can't keep up with them to reply to reviews from previous chapters, although I would really like to. Again, if you would like to give me your email address, I could respond to each chapter's review. My own address is listed in my profile.

Ch. 23 – Preparations

Once he had informed Helena of his decision, the two of them slipped back into their easy friendship. She accompanied him to oversee the arrival and arrangement of his final pieces of furniture, and the trunks carrying his possessions from his previous residence. As they watched the magnificent chandelier being hoisted to the ballroom ceiling, Helena suddenly tugged on his sleeve, "Erik, darling, now that you have this splendid ball room, we must have a grand and glorious party to celebrate and show off your fine work!" He laughed at the excitement in her eyes, thoroughly enjoying her youthful enthusiasm. "If it pleases you, Helena dear, certainly I will arrange it." She reached up to hug him impulsively.

Erik was still not used to such casual displays of affection, but not wanting to hurt her feelings, gently hugged her back. Looking up at him rather timidly she added, "We could announce our engagement at the party," her voice hesitated, lest he be upset by her prodding. Instead, he smiled down at her affectionately, and said, "I don't see why not." Still standing in the circle of his arms, she broke away reluctantly after a moment, and then smiled up at him, her blue eyes staring at him in unabashed adoration. "Oh, there is so much to do. I must find a gown and there are invitations to be sent out, and a meal to arrange. Oh, oh, Erik darling, I must go and see to the preparations at once!" And with that, she kissed him quickly on the cheek and hastened out the door.

Erik watched her leave with indulgent amusement playing on his lips. His life would certainly never be dull with Helena as his wife.

The days before the party flew by quickly with all the preparations to be made. For once, he actually found himself looking forward to a social gathering. Before, he had always been uncomfortable, feeling that he could never fit in with the elegant throng around him. Now, successful, rich, titled, healed in mind and body, and with a new house and a beautiful fiancé on his arm, he felt no reason to harbor his insecurities any longer. This time he would be attending as the respected host, entirely accepted amongst those in attendance, instead of as the uninvited outcast watching from the shadows.

On the way from his office to his new home on the afternoon of the day before the ball, he decided to stop by his former residence to check that everything was in order for the new owners and to retrieve any post that might have accumulated in his absence. One quick look around told him that the house was indeed ready, and on his way out the door, he realized there were in fact a number of letters waiting for him there. He made a mental note to remind the postman that his address had now changed, as he thumbed quickly through the letters. One in particular drew his attention. It was written in an elegant hand on an envelope made of the finest cream colored paper and smelled faintly of lilac. He did not recognize the return address, or the handwriting, so he tucked it in his jacket pocket to open later once he reached his home.

Little did he know, as he stepped up to enter his carriage, in that moment, the fate of his heart rested in his pocket.


	24. Anticipation

**A/N:** Thank you to all my reviewers! (For some reason my summary says I have 0 reviews, but obviously as I have replied to some of you, you are out there. My summary was cut off too, hmmm.) I love hearing your comments. I am glad you are as excited about upcoming events as I am. Indeed, my favorite chapters are coming up. Our star-crossed lovers are nearing their ill-fated reunion, and very soon we will see our favorite dangerous, sarcastic Erik emerge once again (I love that side of him. Okay, I love all sides of him.) For those of you who have asked me to update soon, I will not let you down. This entire story is COMPLETE. But in order to keep the suspense and encourage reviews, I am going to attempt to update related chunks of chapters each day. So stay tuned!

Ch. 24 – Anticipation

Christine's eyes shown as she stepped away from the carriage and gazed at the cheerful cottage before her. Elsa's taste was impeccable, and Christine couldn't have done better if she had chosen it herself. The home was pleasant and well-cared for with a riot of flowers calling to her from neatly tended flowerbeds throughout the grounds. Best of all, the view from her front window and bedroom would be an uninterrupted view of the sea - a sight that Elsa had known held a special place in Christine's memory. Her key turned easily in the lock, and as she walked through the house, she was at once enamored with its cozy charm. She asked one of the servants that Elsa had hired to take her bags up to her room and he assented good-naturedly. After a quick exploration of the grounds, Christine found herself leaning against the stone fence, watching the last rays of the sun fade over the sapphire water of the bay.

The warm sea air mingled with her curls, tossing them playfully before her face. Her thoughts were quiet as she considered her plans for the morning. She had decided on the long train ride from the country that she would delay her date with destiny no longer. In the morning, she would seek out the address Elsa had given her and find him. She still wasn't certain what she would say, but she was determined that she would fight for his love this time, as he had once fought so desperately for hers. She knew that her encounter with him would most likely not be easy. Her Angel had never been a predictable man; his fiery temper and passionate genius could be exhausting at times. But she knew she was now strong enough to withstand him and accept him completely.

With one last look at the water, she turned back into the house. She knew she would need her rest for tomorrow. After brushing her hair and slipping into her nightdress, she knelt down before her bed, as a small child before God. Her prayer was simple, but heartfelt as she prayed, "God in heaven, you have seen fit to send my Angel back to me. Help him to forgive the past, and find a way to open his heart to me once more." With her mind at peace, Christine sank into her bed and fell at once into blissful sleep.

Meanwhile, in a sprawling mansion nearby, Erik had just finished reading through the remainder of the post that he had retrieved earlier from his previous residence. He laid the letters that required answers on his desk, and then began to remove his jacket. Unnoticed, a cream-colored envelope slipped to the floor.

Erik removed the remainder of his clothing, sliding into bed with unusual weariness. Planning a ball was a new experience for him and he found it utterly exhausting. He sincerely hoped Helena would not wish to do this sort of thing too often. His nerves were already on edge at the thought of all that was left to be done and all of the people he would be forced to converse pleasantly with. His earlier enthusiasm had waned, and now he was regretting his decision to subject himself to such torment, even for Helena's benefit.

_Perhaps I am too set in my ways to marry, _he thought. It would have been different with Christine, he knew. She had been as lost and lonely as he was; quite often preferring solitude to the company of large crowds. He shook his head, angry at himself for the thought. It would not do to compare Helena to Christine. It was not fair to her. They were two very different people, with different places in his heart. No, if he was to be a married man soon, he would have to learn to close his mind to the unbidden thoughts of Christine that he had become so accustomed to accommodating. He sighed. It would be difficult to let them go after they had been a part of his life for so long.


	25. A Change in Plans

**A/N:** Thanks Reviewers!

Ch. 25 – A Change in Plans

Christine awoke early the next morning, excitement and nervousness interrupting her peaceful slumber. She dressed carefully, in a burgundy dress that she knew complemented her coloring and her trim figure. She brushed her curls to a sleek shine, and secured only the sides of her hair back out of the way, while allowing the rest to tumble down her back, just as she remembered her Angel had always preferred. She applied the tiniest bit of makeup, and then stood before the mirror, eyeing her appearance nervously. Well, she had done all she could do, and she could wait no longer. After three long years, she had to see him. Her eyes were starved for the sight of him in his dark splendor; her ears thirsty for the rich, musical sound of his voice. Smiling like a love-struck school girl, she nearly ran to the carriage, giving the driver the address and mentally urging him to hurry.

As the carriage drew near to the house, Christine looked up at its simple elegance, and thought that it was exactly the sort of house her Angel would choose. Smiling to herself, she walked lightly up the cobbled walkway, stopping anxiously to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her skirt. Taking a deep breath, she knocked lightly on the door. There was no answer. She tried a second time, but heard no sounds of movement from within. Fighting her disappointment that he was not at home, she began to walk back toward the carriage. But seeing a lone gardener working along the edge of the house, she paused hopefully; walking over to him with what she hoped was a winning smile.

"Monsieur, pardon me, could you tell me where to find the man that lives in this house?"

The gardener was old and stooped, but his eyes were kind. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow, then answered politely, "Master Erik no longer lives here, mademoiselle. The new owners will be arriving tomorrow."

Christine persisted, "This man, Erik, do you know the address of his new home. It really is very important that I speak with him."

The gardener gestured with a gnarled hand to a formidably-sized mansion in the distance, the peak of which was just barely visible above the trees. "It would be that one at the bottom of the hill. Just built it. Designed it himself, you know," the man swelled with pride as if he himself had designed it. He continued with a smile. "You must be here for the ball tonight. It is supposed to be the event of the season, with the unveiling of that fancy new house."

Christine thought the idea of Erik hosting a ball was more than a little curious, considering his former aversion to crowds, but she smiled sweetly, "Thank you, monsieur, I am most grateful." As the carriage rattled along, Christine considered her options. Smiling impishly to herself, she realized that this ball might be a perfect opportunity. She informed the driver through the window that her plans had changed. She wished instead to do a bit of shopping before heading home. He nodded and turned the carriage toward the city.

Several hours later, back inside the cottage as she prepared to change, Christine grinned. She had found the perfect dress. She touched with reverence a delicate creation of shining silver spread upon her bed. Christine had seen it in a dressmaker's window and had been immediately taken with it. It had been extremely expensive, and she normally would not have been so extravagant, but she had felt that tonight she would need the confidence it would bring her. Still smiling, she slipped it over her shoulders, and with the help of her maid, buttoned the many tiny silver buttons down the back. She arranged her curls, this time threading a length of silver ribbon amongst the ringlets, but once again allowed them to spill down over her bare shoulders in a tumble of shining auburn. She lovingly removed a stunning diamond necklace that had been Elsa's from its leather case, and fitted it around her graceful neck, hanging the matching earrings on her delicate lobes. She applied a small amount of rouge to her cheeks and a hint of color to her lips.

Looking at her image in the mirror at last, she was childishly pleased at the effect. The silver color complimented the creamy perfection of her pale skin, and the diamonds around her neck sparkled in the candlelight. The neckline of the dress left the graceful line of her neck and shoulders bare and dipped a bit lower in the front, revealing an enticing glimpse of the new found curves on her slender frame. The bodice hugged her tiny waist and then the fabric of the skirt swept to the side along the curve of her hip, dropping in a graceful cascade of platinum to the floor at her feet.

She realized as she stared at her reflection that unconsciously she had chosen this dress because it had reminded her of an angel when she had seen it - the combination of delicate silver, the fine gossamer feel of the fabric, even the way it seemed to float with her as she moved - all seemed to speak of something divine. She hoped that tonight, her love would again see her as the angel he had always thought her to be. Her eyes sparkled and a brilliant smile lit her face. She slid a light, silvery wrap around her shoulders, and with barely contained excitement nearly flew down the stairs and out the door to the awaiting carriage.


	26. Reunion

**A/N:** Ah! Doth mine ears hear the protests of mine audience? Just for you, one more chapter tonight. Sorry, it is an awful cliffhanger, but I want you all back tomorrow! Yes romancebookworm4ever, you have noticed the missing envelope. Will Erik read it in time? Tune in tomorrow to find out. It is gone, but not forgotten by your obedient author. To some of the other reviewers of the day, special thanks to emstress, Pertie, and Taya24. I will update tomorrow AM, I promise!

Ch. 26 – Reunion

The carriage ride seemed to take forever, though it was in fact, not far at all. Although she was breathlessly impatient, she used the time to prepare herself mentally for whatever she might be about to encounter. She reminded herself that Erik would most likely be shocked to see her. And although she had been living daily with the knowledge of her love for him, he himself had no idea of it. In fact, the last time they had met, she had rejected him and humiliated him before all of Paris society.

Her smile faded a bit at the thought. She steeled herself for the fact that instead of being overjoyed to see her as she hoped, he may very well be angered at least initially by her unannounced presence after all this time. At the memory of his anger, she flinched, but she resolved that she would not back down from him. In the past she had been a naive, indecisive little girl. Now, she was a strong woman who had endured more than many women twice her age. She would weather his anger with the knowledge that only on the other side of the inevitable storm would the two find the peace they both had sought for so long.

Serenely now, she awaited her inevitable encounter with him. For better or for worse, at least she would have the chance to see him once more. That knowledge alone was enough to sustain her.

As her carriage arrived at the front gate, she graciously thanked the driver and turned to stare at the immensely grand home before her. It was in fact one of the largest homes she had ever encountered, but it was not the size of the mansion that amazed her, it was its overwhelming beauty. Every detail was stunning, just as she had imagined it would be, and yet even more breathtaking than her imagination was capable of conceiving. She felt a surge of pride and love for the complicated genius that was her Angel. With that very look of pride and love on her face, she entered his home through the great arched doorway, stepping inside through the open doors of the foyer and into the grand ballroom.

She could not stop taking in every detail of the home around her as a servant stepped forward to take her wrap. She relinquished it absently, her eyes still reveling in the utter beauty and perfection surrounding her. She loved it immediately because every detail in it spoke of him. She could feel his very soul in the walls of this building, and the warmth of it engulfed her. Tears formed in her eyes. She had forgotten how much she missed that undeniable aura that always surrounded him and everything he touched.

Meanwhile, Erik stood at the far corner of the ball room with a rather overweight and pompous baron engaged in exactly the type of meaningless, mindless polite conversation that he had been dreading since the night before. His eyes wandered the room. God, he was bored. He longed for a good book or a night at the opera, or anything that could save him from the emptiness of this shallow social hell. Why had he ever bothered to feel left out from these inane social gatherings? He wondered desperately for a moment if anyone would notice if he were to leave. His gaze fell on Helena then, and he sighed. Helena would notice, and she would most definitely not be pleased.

Erik watched her chatting graciously with a small group of overdressed socialites in the corner. He admired the obvious charm and sophistication with which she handled the conversation. She was resplendent tonight in a silk sheathe of deepest blue, her golden curls swept elegantly into a chignon at the back of her head. She met his gaze for a moment smiling a special smile, just for him. He returned it genuinely, although admittedly with a trace of reserve. There was something unsettling him tonight, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he had tried to ignore, but it was suddenly becoming overwhelming.

With a slight frown, Erik surveyed the room warily, thinking back to earlier when he had first felt it. It had been that afternoon as he had dressed for the occasion upstairs in his bedroom. No expense had been spared for the evening, and that included in the selection of his evening wear, the crowning touch of which was a fine black satin waistcoat embroidered in delicate silver. After securing a matching cravat carefully around his throat, he slipped on his coat and reached for his gloves as he stepped out onto the balcony for a bit of air to calm his nerves before heading downstairs. As he had stood enjoying the warm, sensuous summer night, he suddenly had an overwhelming sense of Christine's presence. He had whirled around, fully expecting to see her standing right behind him from the acuteness of the feeling, but he saw nothing. Questioning his own sanity, he had turned and headed quickly downstairs.

The event had been brief and his feeling had proven unfounded, and yet he could still feel the same uneasy awareness as he had earlier in the evening, though now it was nearly stifling in its intensity. Through all his years in the Opera House, he had become highly attuned to a certain electricity in the air whenever Christine was nearby, and that awareness had never been wrong before.

Erik raked a hand through his dark hair. _Of all the nights to be thinking of her!_ He impatiently excused himself from the elderly baron and moved to pour himself a glass of champagne. He was angry once again at the weakness of his mind where Christine was concerned. _In a few moments, I will be announcing my engagement, for heaven's sake!_ He thought irritably. He quickly swallowed his first glass and moved to pour a second, but as he brought the glass to his lips, he froze - his worst fear and greatest fantasy both coming to life before his eyes. She was there.

He saw her the moment she entered the room, and he would have recognized those auburn curls anywhere. She stood in the doorway of the ballroom, gazing with undisguised admiration at the room around her. He watched the rapture on her face as she witnessed his creation for the first time. He had meant it for her. Unconsciously, he had designed this entire home as the home he had secretly hoped for them to spend their lives together as husband and wife. He could no longer deny it, even to himself. As he watched her unadulterated joy at the beauty surrounding her that he had created, he felt he would burst with happiness.

He had to speak with her, his entire being cried out to run to her, to bury his head in the mass of those lilac-scented curls, and hold her tiny frame in his arms. As if in a daze, he set his glass on the table and began to move toward her.

But just then, she removed her wrap, and the vision stopped him in his tracks. Staring at her, he literally felt his heart would be ripped from his chest in its haste to return to her. She was so breathtakingly lovely, a vision of glittering silver. He remembered her that first night on the stage, singing in a gown much like the one she wore now, only in white. He had called her his angel of music then, and that title suited her once more, for an angel she surely was in all her splendor.

Helena stood nearby watching him. From Erik's reaction, she had instantly guessed who the lovely brunette in the doorway must be. Watching Erik stare at this elegant creature with such an obvious expression of adoration, she couldn't help but feel a rush of happiness for him, despite the sinking feeling of her own loss that stabbed through her body. She loved Erik deeply, but she knew by the look on his face that this woman for him would forever be the eternal love that outshone all others. Erik would only marry for that love. She knew it with absolute certainty now. Swallowing her pride and fighting back tears, she gathered her courage. She closed her eyes briefly, and then took a deep breath, drawing alongside Erik and taking his arm.

"So this is the one. She is truly an angel, Erik. Just as you said," she kept her tone soft and deliberately light. He didn't seem to hear her at first, then shook himself visibly as if to regain control over his senses. "I'm sorry, Helena, what was it you said?" His eyes still did not move from the figure in the doorway. Helena moved closer to whisper in his ear, "I said she is truly an angel." At this Erik's eyes snapped down to her face. "How did you know..." the question trailed off as he stared at her, the storm raging inside him easy to see.

Helena laughed softly, "It is obvious to everyone in this room that you love that woman with everything in your soul, Erik. You are staring at her as if she was an oasis and you were a man dying of thirst."

Erik dropped his head, beaten. Everything had somehow begun to spin out of control from the moment Christine had entered the room. "I didn't invite her. I swear I had no idea she would be here. I haven't seen or heard from her in three years." He raised his head, looking desperately into her eyes, pleading with her to believe him. "Helena, I swear I didn't mean to let it affect me like this. I thought I had gotten over her. I would never have hurt you intentionally..." his voice trailed off. It sounded like a weak explanation, even to his own ears.

Helena lifted her hand and gently touched his cheek. "Erik, you owe me no explanations. I made my offer knowing full well the risks that it brought. You have always been open about the fact that your heart will forever belong to another. It was just my misfortune that she finally realized its worth and came at last to claim it." At her words, tears formed in Erik's eyes and his voice broke. "I would not make that assumption, Helena. The last time it was given to her, she made it quite clear that it was a most unsatisfactory offering. And I am not certain that I wish to offer it up so easily this time."

His eyes burned as he remembered suddenly his last encounter with Christine, the humiliation and anguish he thought he had forgotten building inside of him. Helena reached up and cupped his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Erik, love like I see in your eyes comes but once in a lifetime. Do not let wounded pride blind you to a gift from God. Here is your second chance. Go. Take it," she whispered. His eyes were so uncertain, like a frightened child. She reached up and kissed him gently, silently lending him her strength.

Forcing a bright smile once again, she resumed the persona of charming hostess as if by magic. Mischief suddenly twinkled in her eyes, as she said firmly, "I will make your excuses. Go and escape, as you have secretly wished to do from the moment you entered the room." Erik opened his mouth to protest, but instead grinned guiltily. She knew him too well. "Thank you, Helena, dear friend for everything." He kissed her hand lightly, and then watched her walk away.

Helena had been so good to him. She had always been honest and forthright, giving her love freely and asking nothing in return. And no matter what she said, he knew that she had been hurt deeply by the obvious display of his feelings for Christine.

His anger began to build inside once more. How dare Christine decide to show up after all this time and entangle herself once again in his life! Did she truly expect him to fall at her feet as he once had?

His eyes hardened to icy steel, and he straightened. A dangerous smile played on his lips as he strode purposefully toward her - a dark predator stalking its prey. He wanted an explanation for the misery she had dealt him and for her uninvited presence here tonight. His heart might be a slave to her, but he would not allow it to rule his head, making him an easy target for her manipulations once more.


	27. Tale of the Siren

**A/N:** phantomann – Luckily, I am an early riser too! I am glad you like the story. I had planned to be far crueler in the last chapter – Christine fainting in the doorway as she heard Erik announce his engagement to another. Ah, but that might have been a bit predictable, and the more I thought about it, I didn't see any way to disentangle Erik from his engagement without him breaking his word – something he will never do in this story.

Okay readers, the M rating is for roughly the next 5 chapters. We are getting into the good stuff. This chapter, in fact, is one of my personal favorites. As I said before, I love wounded, dangerous, bitingly sarcastic Erik with a passion and he makes a grand entrance in this chapter. Christine seems to bring that out in him. Anyway, thanks for all the supportive comments and keep talking to me! I will post three chapters now and two more tonight for those who are interested.

Ch. 27 – Tale of the Siren

Unaware of the dark figure moving towards her, Christine stood lost in her surroundings for some time. Presently, with a skip of her heart, she remembered what she had come for and began to look around the room seeking the face of her Angel. He would be easy to pick out both by his unusual height and by the white shadow of his mask. Her dark eyes scanned the crowd, but she did not see him. Disappointed, she took the glass of champagne that was offered to her and began to sip it, content for the moment to wait for his return. After three long years, a few more moments seemed insignificant.

She noticed presently a doorway at the side of the ballroom that opened into a grand hallway. Curious, she stepped into it, enchanted by the exquisite works of art displayed on its walls. She knew her Angel must have chosen them, and once again she stood in awe of his unbelievable taste.

One painting in particular drew her attention. She set her glass down on the hall table to her left and leaned closer to get a better look. It depicted a hauntingly beautiful woman who appeared to be singing. A handsome young man was seated at her feet, staring at her as if enthralled by her voice. She smiled at the romantic image, and did not hear the soft click of the lock on the hallway doors as they closed behind her.

A soft, lazy voice whispered very close to her ear, "Do not be fooled, milady, for that lovesick boy will pay dearly for the beauty of her song. Have you never heard the story of the Siren? It is a tale that I am certain _you_ would appreciate."

Christine stood frozen. That voice. She would have known its hypnotic sensuality anywhere. She could feel the heat of his breath on her ear, and the warmth of him behind her made her vaguely dizzy. Every nerve ending came alive, awakening to the undeniable current of electricity between them. Her body screamed at his closeness. She wanted to turn and throw herself into his arms, but the danger in his voice held her still.

He did not move from behind her, but his fingers trailed impudently from her ear and along the line of her neck, coming to rest around her throat - caressing, threatening, challenging.

The touch of his hand ignited her skin. She was trembling, her body yielding as it always had under his touch. She knew without seeing that he was enjoying immensely the control he still had over her. With one hand never leaving her throat, his other slid across her rib cage and down to her waist, his thumb brushing tauntingly just below the lower curve of her breast. He laid his palm against the flat of her stomach, and without releasing pressure, moved it seductively over her hip and halfway down her outer thigh before bringing it back to repeat its journey, continuing his delicious torment.

His voice caressed her ear once again, "You see the Siren was a mythical creature that had all the beauty of heaven and the voice of an angel. When she would sing, men would flock to her, willing to give their very lives for but a taste of her lips and the thrill of her song." His hands became steadily bolder, increasing their pressure, widening their exploration. Christine felt her blood turn to liquid fire.

Her eyes closed, the magic of his voice continued its seduction, "Ah, but the Siren held a secret. Her song was but a tool, her kiss but a trap. For you see when her unsuspecting suitor drew forward to claim his prize, her beauty evaporated revealing a hideous monster underneath, a monster who would devour his flesh in the most painful and gruesome of fates." Christine's eyes flew open, and her blood suddenly ran cold as she realized the meaning behind his story.

Erik felt her tense and his light caress turned instantly to a grip of iron, holding her immobile. There was undisguised menace in his voice now, and it dropped to a chilling whisper, "Of course, even in their anguish it was said that her victims still cried out, begging for her song, for her kiss - even as they were being consumed. Ironic, don't you think that such beauty can blind us to the monster that lies within?" Christine's heart was beating wildly now, but she waited silently and did not struggle.

She understood somehow that this was his punishment for her betrayal, for the anguish she had caused him. He believed her to be like the Siren – using her beauty and voice to manipulate and break him. He was testing her, to see if she would once again run from his anger and desire. Subconsciously, she knew that he needed to see her submission, needed to see she was not a threat before he could bear to make himself vulnerable to her again. Thus, she stood silent and unflinching before his barely contained rage.

Behind her, Erik was struggling mightily between that very same rage and his own overwhelming desire. He had meant to punish her through his brazen seduction, but unfortunately he had been unable to do so without feeling its effects himself. He could smell the intoxicating scent of her hair, could feel the softness of her body, yielding and inviting beneath his irreverent hands. He felt driven to the brink of insanity by his need for her. But the anguish of his memories would not let him give in so easily, and in the end, his anger won out.

He grabbed her wrist roughly and spun her around to face him. Despite her fear, her eyes devoured him, widening when her unconcealed exploration took in the completeness of his face. Still, she did not speak.

Looking down into her sweet, desire-clouded face, he was confused by her reaction to him. She had not cried, nor screamed. Indeed, she had not fought him at all, which was very unlike her. And now, she seemed to be eyeing him with the same hungry desperation with which he was looking at her.

Steeling himself against her charms, he purred into her ear, "I'm afraid you have much to explain, my dear. You won't be rejoining the party this evening." With that, he opened a door in the hall and thrust her inside. "Wait here." It was a command, not a request. The door slammed behind him and Christine found herself alone and trembling in an enormous library.


	28. Forgiveness Denied

**A/N:** As you may have noticed, I have a passion for Greek mythology. Erik, in this story at least, shares my obsession.

This is another of my favorite chapters. More punishment for Christine up ahead, I'm afraid. (I haven't forgiven her yet.) Our Erik has a life that is moving along pretty well now, and he has discovered that he can in fact survive without Christine. You will note the Leroux reference toward the end. I understand his desperation in the novel, but I hate the idea of such a talented, brilliant man humbling himself as "a dog" at the feet of a foolish chorus girl, just because of his face. So, I will now exact my revenge on Christine for laying my Erik so low. In this chapter, Christine will get her own taste of what it means to humble herself and be denied, hence the title.

Ch. 28 – Forgiveness Denied

Despite the difficulty of her current situation, Christine could not help but delight in the room around her. The ceiling was high and vaulted, adorned by a stunningly beautiful series of paintings depicting scenes from Greek mythology. She could tell Erik had done the work himself. Somehow there was the same distinctive ethereal beauty to them that characterized everything he created. The walls of the room were lined with thousands of books on every subject. She had no doubt that during his lifetime, Erik would read them all. The furnishings were simple and elegant, and as she turned to see the rest of the room, her gaze was drawn to an enormous window that comprised one whole section of the room from floor to ceiling.

The window was situated in between two opposite sections of the wall, so it appeared as its own nook, comfortably nestled within the grandeur of the room. Tucked within the space was a cushioned window seat, and as Christine stepped closer, she could see that the view from the window was of the expansive gardens. She could picture herself there in that seat, enjoying a good book and gazing out into the garden. She imagined herself as Erik's wife and just for a moment, allowed herself to dream as she sat down arranging her billowing silver skirt around her and tucking her feet up beneath her as a small child would do. She grinned with pleasure. The space was a perfect fit for her.

Turning her attention to the window, she gasped in astonishment. The gardens were grand in their own right, but in the center was a vision that took her breath away. A large fountain consisting of several stunning classical human sculptures stood there, the focal point from her window. It was lit in the warm summer night, the water cascading in a golden stream into the sparkling pool below.

Her eyes blurred with tears. This was the real Erik - the Erik that had created this house. Erik was beauty and intelligence, sensitivity and passion, music and art. He was everything she could see so clearly around her. The rest of it, his anger and his violence, they were forced upon him by a world that had treated him with unbelievable cruelty. He had developed an iron-clad armor of hostility and sarcasm around his fragile soul in order to protect it from those would seek to destroy it. It pained her deeply that in his mind he counted her as being among them - someone he must protect himself from at all costs.

She stared out the window at the loveliness he had created, wishing more than anything to have a chance to be a part of his world once again. How could she ever convince him to trust her? She knew she had to try, no matter how difficult it might be. She could not bear life without him, especially now that she so clearly remembered everything about him that she adored.

Unnoticed, Erik had returned several moments earlier. He had needed a few minutes outside of her unnerving presence to regain his composure, and having calmed to the point where he felt capable of civilized conversation, he had returned. He had always moved with an uncommon grace, and she did not hear him reenter the room. He hadn't seen her immediately, but then he had noticed her tiny figure in the window seat at the opposite end of the room. The sight made his breath catch in his chest.

When he had designed this room, he had pictured her there with her feet tucked beneath her just as she used to sit in the window of the chapel at the opera house. He used to find her there sometimes sitting like that with her nose in a book, enjoying the peace and the view of the city below. She had confided to him once that although she loved the city, she often secretly pretended that her view was of a splendid garden with roses and trees and a beautiful fountain in the center.

He leaned his head against the doorway in defeat. What hope did he have to resist her? He had loved her for so long. He remembered every word she had ever spoken, every dream she had ever described to him, every gesture, every movement, every expression. And to see her there in the special spot he had made for her brought him so much joy, it was hard to find the will to fight it.

His anger had faded, but his hurt and uncertainty remained. He needed to know why she had come and what had happened between them years before. Still, he found it difficult to maintain his composure when he was too near to her, so he remained in the safety of the doorway. Everyone else had left, and he had sent the servants from the house for the night, so there was no fear of disruption. No, it was time to finally face the demons of the past. He cleared his throat to alert her to his presence.

Hearing a faint sound from behind her, Christine reluctantly turned her eyes away from the view through the window and searched the room for its source. At once, she noticed Erik in the doorway. His lithe frame rested easily against it, his arms crossed in front of him and the familiar half smirk curling his lips. He seemed to be either poised for battle or ready to flee depending on what the moment called for. Her eyes softened at the defensiveness of his posture.

She stood slowly meeting his eyes for the first time. Her voice was husky and moved with emotion, "Erik, you have created such beauty here. Really, it is beyond my comprehension. There are no words for it." Her eyes shone with tears, love and pride radiating in her voice. It stunned him for a moment, and when he finally responded it took every ounce of will he had to keep his expression unreadable and his voice casual. "It serves its purpose."

Christine moved toward him, but as he fought to maintain his control, he stopped her with his hand and gestured for her to sit on the leather sofa in the center of the room. Still leaning lazily in the doorway, his eyes burned into hers. His tone was one of cool detachment, "And now, Miss Daae, we arrive at the burning question: Why, after nearly three years, would you choose to show up uninvited at my engagement gala?"

Christine had been prepared for the question of why she had come, but her shock at the announcement of his impending engagement could not be hidden. Her eyes widened and filled with tears as she dropped her head. A wicked smile spread across his face as the carefully directed barb found its mark. _Ahh, so she hadn't known, then._ He delighted in the look of anguish on her face. Now she had had but a taste of the pain she had served him so easily when she had agreed to her engagement with the boy.

He was relishing this chance to hurt her, to punish her for what she had done, but there was still part of him that longed to hear her explanation, that hoped somehow she would be able to explain away all his doubts. Deep inside, he wanted more than anything to see her once again as his innocent angel, and not the manipulative Siren he had accused her of being earlier. So he waited, watching closely for her response.

Christine raised her eyes, and the obvious pain in them surprised him. Her voice was quiet, "So I am too late then?"

Taken aback by her question, he recovered quickly, raising an eyebrow and answering in a gentle mocking tone, "That all depends on what your intentions were in coming here, my dear. If your intention was to complicate my life even further than you already have, then I can assure you, mademoiselle, your timing could not have been more perfect."

She blushed, knowing it was true. She hadn't given any thought to the fact that he might have moved on, even if she hadn't. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again, but her eyes did not waver from his, "I am sorry Erik. I did not come here to cause any more pain to you. God knows I have caused you enough in the past."

Erik was once again thrown off balance by both her reply and her demeanor. He had been prepared for tears and hysterics, for pleading and begging and beguiling, but she had done none of those things. It occurred to him that somewhere over the course of the last three years, Christine had grown up. He didn't sense in her the same girlish games or helpless indecision of the past. She was distraught and in pain, he could clearly see that, and yet, she had not come undone in the face of his anger, his sarcasm, even his desire. This intrigued him, and he was momentarily unsure how to respond.

Leaving the safety of the doorway, he walked over to where she sat and took the chair opposite her. Taking a deep breath, he leaned over and gently turned her chin so that she was facing him. His gray-blue eyes were no longer threatening, now they merely questioned. His voice was gentle, "Christine, why are you here? Please, I need to know," he said simply, his eyes searching hers.

At the tenderness and uncertainty in his voice, her face softened, and she smiled sadly. Her eyes once again did not waver from his, and she allowed him to see in them all of her love and longing, whispering only, "Can you not see?"

Erik drew his hand away slowly, tensing, unable to believe what she was attempting to tell him. "No... no, no," he shook his head, "I can not go through this again, Christine. We have played this game before, and I am afraid I would not survive it a second time." He stood abruptly and walked away, finally stopping a few feet away with his back to her. His voice was cold and caustic once again, "Let's be honest, shall we? Your precious vicomte is gone and you are alone in the world with no one to coddle you and tell you how beautiful you are. You have lost your chance at a life of wealth and nobility, so now you have come to seek the fortune and the title you lost when your ridiculous boy went off and so selfishly got himself killed in the service of his country. And now you have come back to your angel, certain that if you bat your eyelashes and pout with those pretty lips he will come crawling back to you like the dog he was at your feet three years ago when you left him to die."

Even through the iciness of his voice, she could hear the raw emotion just under the surface. His words were unfair and cruel, and yet, she knew he had every reason to think all of those things after their last encounter. She fought hard to keep her calm in the face of his accusations. Mentally, she reminded herself that no matter how painful this conversation might be it could not hurt more than a lifetime without him. She would continue to fight for him, to reason with him and reassure him until he believed in her love.

With renewed resolve, she stood up and moved behind him. "Erik, I know that I hurt you terribly the last night we were together. I do not deny it and I offer no defense for it. But what you need to know is that on that night, after I left you, all I could think of was you – your touch, your voice, your kiss. I have spent three years in agony over the hurt I caused you, longing for you, knowing that I alone was the cause of my own unhappiness. Every night I spent singing to you from my balcony waiting for your voice to answer. Every night I lay down to horrible nightmares, replaying my betrayal over and over in my mind, seeing the pain in your eyes again and again as I stripped away your mask. When I believed you had died..." at this, her voice broke, but she continued in a whisper, "...that was when I knew without a doubt how irrevocably and hopelessly in love with you I truly was."

She could not see his face, but at her last words, she watched as his shoulders shook and his head hung forward. Encouraged, she went on, "I fought it Erik. But it had been there all along. I was young and scared. You utterly overwhelmed me with your passion, and with the passion you evoked in me that I was too inexperienced to understand. I ran away. I took what I thought was the safest road, and I have paid dearly for it. The look on your face that night has haunted me from the moment I left until this day. I have spent every night alone, aching for you there to hold me, to talk with me, to teach me as you once did." Her voice dropped again to a near whisper, "I know I do not deserve it Erik, but please forgive me. I was young and foolish and I have caused us both great suffering, but I have been nothing but faithful to you all these years. Please, Erik. I love you. I have always loved you..." Her voice trailed off and she reached for his arm, pleading with him silently to face her, but still he would not turn around.

They stood there like that for many moments, the tension and anguish nearly tangible in the air around them.

"You say you were faithful to me, and yet I know you were not. I read your engagement announcement myself," his tone was still guarded and she sighed, knowing her explanation would not be enough to satisfy him.

"When I believed you had died, I didn't think it mattered what happened to me. Raoul had been kind to me and I cared for him. I know it doesn't make any sense, but I couldn't bear to cause anyone any more pain, not after what I had done to you. And yet, when the time came to actually pledge myself to him before God, I couldn't do it." At this, she stepped around him, forcing him to face her. She reached her hand up to bring his eyes to meet hers. "I couldn't do it because I had already pledged myself before God to you. Even believing you were dead, I was willing to spend the rest of my life faithfully loving you, even with no hope of having your love in return."

Her hand gently brushed his cheek, attempting to soothe and reassure him. Her eyes fell on his lips, and her fingers strayed from his cheek to touch them, "And now that I know you are alive, I want nothing more than to spend every day earning that love that I so carelessly cast aside before, for I have learned what a true gift it was."

She could hold herself back no longer. She slid her hand around his neck and pulled his lips to hers. When their mouths met at last, it was as if a dam broke, years of love and longing spilling forth in a wave of unspoken emotion so strong it nearly knocked them both to their knees. Her hands were no longer shy and hesitant as they had once been, but bold and demanding, exploring with a raw, unbridled need that shocked Erik and ignited within him a matching fury. His mouth crushed hers, and yet the force of her mouth equaled his in every way. His hands tangled in her hair, slid down the satin skin of her back, gripped her waist and roughly pulled her body up against him. But her hands once again surpassed his own in their audacity, slipping inside his jacket to tug at the tail of his shirt. Succeeding in pulling it loose, she slid her hands inside to savor the delicious feel of his muscular chest and stomach.

Erik groaned softly. This was madness. He wasn't certain anymore who was accosting whom, and yet he was powerless to stop it. His hands were everywhere on her body, molding it to him and reveling in every inch of her smooth flesh and womanly curves. The raging fire in his blood was building to an inferno so intense it made him light-headed. He brought his mouth to her neck and tasted the hollow of her collar bone, feeling her quick intake of breath at the contact. Her arms roughly slid off his jacket and her hands began undoing the buttons of his shirt with a deftness that surprised him. Christine seemed an innocent no longer. If anything, her need seemed nearly to surpass his own. She touched him as if she could not make herself believe he was real, as if she had to feel every inch of him beneath her demanding hands before she would accept that he was alive and there before her. As the last button gave way, she splayed her palms against the sculpted wall of his chest, and moved to slide it from his body, but he froze suddenly and grasped her hands in his own, stilling them abruptly.

Christine looked up into his face in confusion, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes glazed with desire, silently begging him to take her. He dropped her hands, and took a step back from her, willing his breathing and heartbeat to return to a pace that allowed him the capacity for speech. He would not look at her, but his voice was low and angry when he spoke at last, "You will find, mademoiselle, that I am not as blind to your manipulations as I once was. I have worked very hard and endured more than you can imagine over the last three years to be where I am at last, and I am not willing to risk it all for your fleeting affections. There are many women now who would gladly consent to sharing my life and my bed." He watched her flinch at his last statement with cruel satisfaction. "I am no longer a dog at your feet, Christine. I was content before you returned, and I will be content once again after you leave." It was a lie, but he knew she would believe it after he had thrust her so coldly from him.


	29. Destiny Unfulfilled

**A/N:** Another of my favorite chapters. Christine discovers her backbone.

Ch. 29 – Destiny Unfulfilled

Christine stood staring at the grim determination on his face. He meant it. He truly did not need or want her in his life anymore. As much as she had been aware that he might refuse her, she had always deep down believed that the love between them would eventually overcome all barriers. No, this cold rejection she had been unprepared for. Her body was still screaming for his touch, her mind longing to be his wife reading in the window seat looking out over the gardens. But it would never be. _He doesn't want me._ The words echoed, sounding hollow and barren in her mind. With tears in her eyes, she nodded faintly and began to walk toward the door. She had offered him everything, and was leaving with nothing.

His head was still bowed as she walked quietly past him. She stopped directly behind him and paused. There was something that needed to be said, even if it was never meant to be between them. "Erik, I just want you to know that I think you are the most beautiful, extraordinary person I have ever met, whether you have half of a face or a whole one." With her heart breaking all over again and with every ounce of her will, she turned and began to walk down the hallway, hot tears nearly blinding her. She retrieved her wrap from the cloakroom and hurried toward the front door. Just as she was about to leave, she heard him call out her name and she stopped but did not turn around, hoping desperately that he had come to his senses.

His words did not relieve her distress, however, as she had hoped. "Christine, as eager as I am to put all this behind us, I can not in good conscious allow you to return home alone at this late hour. A woman such as you would be in danger walking the streets unaccompanied at night." The formality and composure of his tone was maddening. The strain of the evening was beginning to wear on her. She was hurt and angry and felt suddenly that if she did not remove herself immediately from this place that was so full of him, she would surely go insane. "Thank you, monsieur, but I have been taking care of myself for the past three years, and I am perfectly capable of doing so now." Her voice was cool and she began again toward the door.

In three quick steps, he was behind her with his hand on her arm. "Christine, please. Despite everything that has happened between us, I do not wish you any harm. Please stay. You can have one of the guest rooms in the east wing. My own is on the opposite side of the house. There are no servants here tonight, so there will be no idle gossip. In the morning, I will have my driver take you anywhere you wish to go." He turned her to face him, and his eyes seemed gentle now and sincere.

In the end, it was the concern in his voice that finally won her over. She was really not looking forward to walking alone back to the cottage and she realized that she was in fact very tired. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "All right," she sighed in resignation.

Erik's eyebrow rose slightly, amusement playing over his fine features as his long fingers toyed idly with a wayward curl that had fallen over her shoulder. "Strange, you sound so resigned to your fate, and yet moments ago I could have sworn you wanted to stay here with me." His tone was soft and mocking, and his eyes held a wicked gleam, taunting her with her own obvious desire for him.

But Christine had had enough of his torment. She stepped forward until her body was pressed against his own, leaning up to whisper seductively in his ear "You are right, Erik. I would like nothing more than to spend this night making love to you. Imagine the pleasure we could have brought each other," she breathed gently in his ear, smiling in satisfaction as she felt his breath catch and saw his pulse quicken visibly at the side of his throat.

Backing away with a smirk to match his own she countered coolly, "But as you have made it so abundantly clear, you are no longer affected by me in that way." She watched him flinch visibly in surprise as her own barb found its mark. "So if you would kindly direct me to my room, I will reluctantly accept your hospitality for this night and leave as you requested first thing in the morning." She lifted her long skirts and began up the stairway to the east wing. Looking back over her shoulder, she had to suppress a giggle as she saw him standing exactly where she had left him staring after her in amazement. She had rendered the mighty Erik speechless! Her smile widened at her tiny victory and she carried it with her all the way up the magnificent staircase. Finally, he found his voice, "Second door on your right." She nodded without looking back. "Goodnight Erik, sleep well," she called merrily, knowing full well neither of them would sleep this night.


	30. Divine Intervention

**A/N:** Some of you have really been concerned about the issue of the envelope. I think your questions will be answered in this chapter.

erikfan – Wow. With all the talented writers on this site, your review from Ch. 10 is really a tremendous compliment. Thank you!

Ch. 30 - Divine Intervention

Back in his own room, Erik was pacing furiously. His body was still on fire from the events nearly an hour before. Damn her! He knew he still wanted her, he knew he still loved her, and he knew without a doubt that now more than ever he wanted her in his life. So why was he pushing her away? Erik ran a weary hand through his hair. He knew the answer: he was afraid. Throwing himself down on to the sofa, he laughed scornfully at himself. Imagine! The mighty Phantom of the Opera frightened into hiding by a twenty-year-old girl that he could break in two with his bare hands.But she had a power that he couldn't deny. Even after all these years, she held his heart and soul in her hands. And it would be so much easier to send her away in anger than to open himself up to loving her freely and risking all the pain of her ultimate rejection if she were to choose to leave him once again.

He sat up dropping his head in his hands and staring into the darkness. A tiny voice inside him whispered, _but what if she chose to stay this time?_ With everything in his heart he wanted to believe all that she had told him tonight. Her eyes had held no uncertainty and no deception. She had come to him of her own free will and offered herself to him. But she had done that once before, he remembered - the kiss beneath the Opera Populaire. She had offered herself then too, only to return the ring she had slipped on her finger moments before and sail away with the vicomte. He rubbed his temples. God! If he only knew her words spoke the truth, that she wouldn't change her mind this time, he would fly down the hallway to her room right now, professing his love.

Standing to pace the room once more, he sighed. But there was no way to be certain of her intentions. She was asking him to take a leap of faith, and he was not certain he could survive the fall if his faith proved ill-founded.

As he turned to pour himself a brandy from the bottle on the table, his foot kicked something. Erik bent down and retrieved a cream-colored envelope from the floor. He remembered vaguely tucking it in his coat pocket the day before when he had retrieved the post from his former residence. He had meant to open it that night, but realized it must have slipped out of his pocket. Pouring himself the brandy, he picked up a silver letter opener from the desk and sat down in the firelight to read it. Any distraction from tonight's confusing events was most welcome and he carefully removed the letter spreading it out on the table before him, beginning to read.

_Monsieur,_

_We do not know one another, but I am writing to you concerning a woman for whom we share a common concern, one who is like an adopted daughter to me, Mademoiselle Christine Daae. For the past three years, Christine has been a guest in my home, and during that time, she has taken me into her confidence on numerous occasions. Normally, I would not consider betraying her confidence, but in this case, I felt that it was in her best interest to do so._

_On several such occasions, Christine confided to me details concerning a very special relationship that existed between her and a man whom she referred to simply as her "Angel." On one night in particular, I was privileged to witness a very private conversation between Christine and this man, although he himself was not present. On that night, Christine believed her Angel had died and was in such a state of distress, I thought it best not to leave her alone. Thinking I was asleep, Christine spent many hours writing a letter which she then proceeded to read aloud, directing her voice heavenward and praying to God that her words might reach her Angel to whom they were directed. As the words were meant for no one else, she then dropped her letter into the fireplace to be destroyed. Unbeknownst to her, I later rescued it, believing it a certain sin to allow such honest and powerful words to be so carelessly discarded. I have kept them all these years, not knowing what purpose they would serve until I received word recently that Christine's Angel was indeed alive and I was given information that allowed me to locate him. Now that I have found you, Monsieur Angel, I entrust Christine's honest words to you, as it was for you they were meant. _

_I do not know all that transpired between you and Christine. I do not claim to know what misunderstandings have kept you apart. What I do know, monsieur, is that whatever they may be, they are not worth giving up a love such as the one I have been witness to. I have watched as the power and beauty of this rare devotion gave Christine the courage to love one man faithfully from beyond the grave for over three years. And I believe she would have continued to do so in content until the end of her days, had I not chosen to reveal to her that you were indeed alive. Such a love comes but once in a lifetime, monsieur, if at all._

_And so now, Angel, I leave you with two great gifts. Enclosed, you will find Christine's letter. If you have any doubts as to the sincerity of my words or the feelings of her heart, I feel certain its contents will lay them all to rest. Secondly, I leave in your care the most precious gift of all, the heart of my beloved Christine. Treat it well, Angel, for there is not another of its equal in all the world._

_In approximately three days following your receipt of this letter, Christine will return to you. (Do not be afraid if it is longer. I fear it may take her a day or two to gather her courage.) I beg you, do not turn her away. She needs you, Angel._

_With sincerest wishes for your future happiness,_

_Madame Elsa Alexandra Valerius_

With a trembling hand, Erik reached inside the envelope, pulling out several folded sheets of worn paper. His eyes widened in amazement as he stared at the scorched edges and instantly recognized Christine's own neat hand.


	31. In One Combined

A/N: Okay, we have arrived at the chapter that earns the M rating. Although the section is highly suggestive, it is not explicit. I tried very hard to make the love scene powerful and real and still keep it beautiful and tasteful. This was a very difficult section to write, so I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations for E and C's first time. If you wish to skip the more heated portion of it, I have included asterisks above and below it. The section inside the asterisks is the section for mature audiences only. Also, I was not initially happy with the section so I went back and rewrote it, including a few PONR lyrics you will recognize. These are of course the inspired works of Mr. Charles Hart, as are the lyrics to "Think of Me" that are included in this chapter (as I mentioned before in the author's note in the beginning). That man is truly a genius. His control of the English language is unbelievable. Anyway, enough from me, more E/C!

PS – Thank you once again for all the great reviews. I got a little spoiled yesterday when they were really rolling in. Keep them coming! I love to here from you.

Ch. 31 – In One Combined

Christine stood on the balcony of her room, staring out at the gardens in the moonlight. Tonight had been a disaster. Not only had Erik failed to forgive her, he had made it clear she would never have any place in his life again. In the morning, she would leave this lovely home and return to her cottage, and then what? Since the day she had learned he was alive, every dream for her future had included him. What would she do now?

She sighed. The tears would not come. So instead of tears, tonight she would sing. Closing her eyes, she leaned against the railing and remembered the first aria she had ever sung for her Angel on the stage of the Opera Populaire so many years ago. The words seemed to say everything in her heart and she offered them sadly to the sympathetic night:

"_Think of me. _

_Think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye._

_Remember me, once in a while._

_Please promise me you'll try."_

_"When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me."_

_"We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea, _

_But if you can still remember, stop and think of me."_

_"Think of all the things we've shared and seen._

_Don't think about the way things might have been..."_

"_Think of me. _

_Think of me waking, silent and resigned._

_Imagine me...trying too hard to put you from my mind."_

_"Recall those days._

_Look back on all those times._

_Think of the things we'll never do."_

_"There will never be a day when I won't think of you."_

The last words came out as an anguished sob. She could not continue. Her pain was too great and the tears that had earlier deserted her came now unbidden, flooding her eyes. She sank to her knees on the balcony, crying at last for what she had lost all over again.

"Christine," Erik said softly. At the sound of his voice, so near to her she raised her anguished face. He reached out his hand to help her to her feet. She looked up at him in confusion. In his eyes now, she did not see rage and despair; instead she saw only love and forgiveness reflected back to her at last."Angel?" she whispered hesitantly in reply. He took her hand comfortably in his, and at once it was as if the past three years of torment had never been.

"Come with me, Christine, I want to show you something," he said softly. He led her out of her room and down the stairs into the west wing of the house which had been closed off during the party. Although she didn't understand the sudden change in his demeanor towards her, she would have followed him anywhere.

After a time, they reached the furthest room in the house. Erik instructed her to close her eyes, and then led her into the center of the dark room. He lit several candles, and then stepped back in front of her so he could watch her reaction. She opened her eyes, and her breath caught in her chest. Never had she seen such beauty created by human hands. The room was an unimaginable shrine to the music they both adored. With a loving hand, he tilted her chin upward to see the stars twinkling amongst the stained glass angels she knew at once had been meant for her. She was unable to speak for many moments, tears of joy and disbelief shining in her eyes.

He moved close to her, taking her in his arms, this time gently with a soft reverence, as if she were a holy thing, which to him she was. Burying his face into the soft mass of her curls, he whispered, "I never forgot you, Christine. I never stopped hoping that one day, we would have all this together. I've found everything I ever wanted, but without you, it was all meaningless." He released her enough so that she could see his face.

She brought her hands up to caress first the left cheek that she remembered and then the right one still in disbelief. Her eyes sought his with a deep sincerity, and she was finally able to tell him the words she should have told him three years ago, that night below the opera house. "I am so sorry Erik, for everything. I love you." In these simple words, Erik felt that the very last wound in his life was healed, every gaping hole in his soul complete. The tears in his eyes betrayed the depth of his emotion, as he replied simply, "Thank you. I love you so much, Christine." He pulled her to him once again and she reveled in the knowledge that he was really there, really holding her, really loving her as a whole man once more. She thanked God in heaven for his miracles, for this was surely one of them.

Warning: M rated

There were other things to be said, other things to be explained, but with the most important words out of the way, the rest of them could wait. As they stood there within the circle of each other's arms, Erik reached down to claim her lips once again. The kiss deepened, and his hands were again in her hair, at her neck, on the soft curve of her hip. She moaned softly at the unnamed voice rising up within her, calling out for them to be one at last. Erik felt himself losing control as she melted against him, and once again gently ended the kiss, turning her head to lay it against his shoulder. When he felt he could breathe normally again, he spoke into her ear, his voice heavy with desire, "I am sorry, my love. I do not wish to rush you, but I have waited so long, and now my body calls out for you as if I am no longer its master."

At the feel of his enchanting voice and warm, soft breath in her ear, she felt she would come undone. In answer, she turned her head so he could see the matching desire in her eyes, her answer plain for him to see, her voice shaking, "Erik, if you force me to wait for you much longer, I will surely lose my sanity. Please, my love, I've no wish to spend another night alone dreaming of what we could experience in reality this very moment if we so choose." She touched his lips with her hand, the contact igniting once again the fire that had momentarily been diminished. With every ounce of his being screaming for him to take her to his room and make love to her at last, he held himself in check for one more agonizing moment, pausing to ask her once more, his eyes holding hers, "You are certain, my love?"

There were no words to her response this time; her body would no longer obey. Her mouth hungrily rose to take his and his body met hers with a force that crushed her. With a low growl of frustration at the long distance to his bedroom in the enormous house, he swept her graceful frame easily in his arms, never breaking the contact with her mouth, and strode down the hall, ascending the enormous staircase.

Her hands sought his hair, his neck, his strong shoulder inside his shirt. After believing for three years that she would never touch him again, she could not get enough of the feel of him, and her wandering hands made it difficult for him to think on the journey to his room. Once inside, he pushed the door shut behind him, and stood her gently beside the grand mahogany bed, pausing only momentarily to light a few candles around the room. Christine felt as if her legs would no longer support her and she shivered with the withdrawal of the warmth of his body from hers.

As he returned to her at last, he stopped to savor her unbelievable angelic beauty in the candlelight. Understanding what he wanted, she willed herself to stand before him, allowing him to look at her with the same devouring eyes with which she had ravished him in the hallway.

In the glow of the candle she was all exquisite loveliness, an alabaster-skinned Aphrodite. Erik stopped behind her, his body scant inches from her own. She could feel his nearness, and moved to turn towards him, but his hand stopped her. Instead, he ran his palms along the curve of her neck, and along her elegant shoulders, feeling the inebriating satin of her skin. Christine's eyes fluttered closed. As one hand continued to caress her shoulder, she felt the other move to undo the ribbons from her hair, hearing his breath catch as the flowing beauty of it tumbled freely down her back. Lifting its thick mass to the side in one hand, he stepped closer to her until she could feel his hard, muscular body pressed against her back, and he begin to trace with his lips the path that his hands had moments ago abandoned. Christine felt herself begin to tremble as his lips continued the reverent adoration of her neck and his other hand moved deftly to the buttons at the back of her dress. She wondered silently how much longer she could bear this sweet seduction, this exquisite torture, as his lips trailed down the curve of her back where the buttons of her dress were now coming undone as if by magic.

At last, he turned her so she was facing him, and as he moved to slide the dress from her shoulders, she met his eyes, and with her own hands dropped it to the floor. She reveled in his reaction, as he stood taking in her unimaginable perfection.

She needed suddenly for him to understand that she wanted the same privilege to witness his body, the one she had dreamt of so often. Impatiently, she began once more to remove his shirt. Moved by her need for him, he gently helped her to slide it away, guiding her hands to his skin. At the magnificence of his well-muscled chest, Christine once again moved her fingers over the sculpted hardness of his flesh and then lower to caress the taut muscles of his abdomen. She stepped from the circle of her dress and moved forward so as to place her skin against his, reaching to pull his hips to her own. She felt Erik's sharp intake of breath at the intimacy of the contact. With a low growl of frustration, he quickly removed the last of her undergarments that separated their burning flesh.

When she stood, entirely bare before him, he reached out to press her body to his once again and the flames that ignited when the masculine solidity of his body met her feminine softness, seemed almost visible. With a strength that both terrified and thrilled her, he swung her into his arms, laying her down on the bed before him. In another moment, he joined her beneath the fine sheets, covering her body with his own. Her eyes widened in surprise and exquisite delight when she realized he was now bare before her as well.

His eyes held hers for a moment, as if in awe of all that was taking place between them, and then he began to worship her with his lips: her neck, her shoulder, her collar bone - touching her, tasting her, drinking in her sweetness. His movements were slow and deliberate, his long deft fingers playing over her body and bringing forth an exquisite medley of intense sensations. Christine's mind was a haze. She could not think, did not want to – only to feel, to feel this unimaginable crescendo of pleasure that bordered on pain in its intensity.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul?_

She heard the words in her mind, and she knew the fire they spoke of for that same fire was coursing through her very veins in that moment. Erik's mouth traveled to the curve of her breast, his skillful hands slid even lower.

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

Christine gasped, her chest beginning to heave as her breath quickened. Already she was consumed...and still he traveled lower.

_How long should we two wait before we're one? _

Her body was nearly screaming the question.

She arched her body against him in desperation, begging for something she could not name. Erik obeyed her unspoken command. This time there was no slowing the haste of their need for each other. Their hands and bodies moved of their own volition, as if the script for this night had been written since the beginning of time. Once joined in body, their passion burst forth to blossom at last, fusing their two broken souls into one whole. The bridge that had separated them so long was crossed and burned at last, their separate lives consumed by the flames. There would be no going back. Fate had decided that long ago.

They lay there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, neither able to pull their eyes or hands away from the other. So many unspoken thoughts passed between them as they lay there. The bond they shared had never been more complete than in those powerful moments.

After a time, not wanting to interrupt with words the golden haze that enveloped them both, Erik pulled her to him, stroking her hair until she at last fell asleep in his arms. He lay there for hours, delighting in the feel of her beside him, the joy he felt inside threatening to drown him. He raised his eyes to the heavens and thanked God silently for the greatest gift he had received in all of his life, the one he had thought he would never be granted – Christine.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at her, lying serenely next to him, her auburn locks spread luxuriously across the pillow. _Her pillow_, he thought, marveling that the empty side of his enormous bed had been claimed at last, and by the one person in the world he wanted there. He lay back down in content, drawing her sleeping form into the curve of his arms. She sighed and snuggled up against the solid wall of his chest. Erik at last closed his eyes and enjoyed the most peaceful sleep in all his life.


	32. There is Only You

**A/N: **Yes, our lovers are happily in each other's arms at last. Ah, but what of the other woman?

GerrysJackie: Ha! Ha! LOL! I am glad it worked for you. As I can tell by your screen name, you will appreciate that Erik as I picture him for the purpose of this story is in fact Gerry's Erik. I am sorry to say that there aren't any more scenes like this one in the story, but there will be lots more romance, action, and angst to come. Stay with us! We are only maybe a little over halfway through.

romancebookworm4ever: Yes, our Erik can definitely be harsh when provoked, and Christine tends to bring that out in him. Perhaps it's as they say – there is a thin line between love and hate. For Erik, Christine is the person before whom he is most vulnerable. He has to learn to trust her all over again. Thanks for your continued comments!

Ch. 32 – There is Only You

The next morning, Christine awakened to the sunlight from the window pouring across her face. She could hardly believe how deliciously good she felt on this fine morning, and she knew at once the reason. Sitting up on the bed beside him, she stared adoringly at him, a vision in his dark, masculine beauty. He was sprawled peacefully, the sheets wrapped enticingly around his waist, with his upper body entirely visible. His strong jaw was relaxed in sleep. Impulsively, she bent to kiss it. He stirred slightly, but did not awaken, and she continued staring at him with unabashed curiosity and pride that he was hers at last.

But something suddenly troubled her, something she had forgotten in the passion of the night before. She turned away from him. _What of the woman to whom he had meant to become engaged last night?_ Her hands trembled as she thought of what it all could mean. Perhaps there would be no future for them as she had dared to hope, only one magical night to remember the past before moving on. At the thought, she could not contain her tears, and she lay weeping silently alongside him for many moments.

Sensing her distress, even in sleep, Erik's eyes drifted open, surprised and concerned to see her tears. He quickly folded her into his arms, holding her securely against him. "My darling, what is wrong?"

He thought for a moment, wondering if she regretted her decision to spend the night with him, and cursed himself for rushing her when she might not have been ready. His voice was hesitant as he asked carefully, "Christine, do you...regret what happened between us last night?" He kept his voice even, so she would not think him angry if it were true.

At his words, she spun around to face him, her eyes wide, vigorously shaking her head to reassure him. "Oh no, Erik! Never! What happened last night was all I had dreamt of for the past three years, and even before," she added with a maidenly blush. He raised her head to face him, "Then whatever could be the matter, my love?" She turned her face away, not wanting him to see her reaction lest what she was about to say proved true. "Before I came here, you were planning to announce your engagement to another woman last night at the party." She dropped her head in sorrow and shame. "It occurred to me that she had been here caring for you, all those years after I had turned you away. I have no right to barge in on your happiness, Erik. You have every right to move on." Though it nearly killed her, she added in a whisper, "And if you choose to return to her, even after last night, I will understand." It had taken all her courage to say those words to him, and now she waited in agony for him to either accept her love, or to reject it and return to the arms of the one who had cared for him in her absence.

Erik was moved by her uncertainty, and he took a moment to consider his words carefully. Her breathing was ragged as he set her away from him so that she could see his eyes as he said what he was about to say. But at the utter terror in her expression, he paused to smile reassuringly, taking her hand in his. As gently as he could, he explained. "It is true that I had planned on announcing my engagement to Helena last night," Christine's eyes closed in pain, "And it is also true that she has indeed been a very dear friend to me, though I have not known her for very long, only a matter of months." He sighed knowing this would be difficult to explain.

"I recently discovered some very intriguing information about my family background, information that had before been unknown to me. I discovered that I was a titled man, a Comte in fact, and the last of my family line, with the exception of Helena, who would be my paternal cousin. Helena made me an offer of marriage, meant mainly to ensure the survival of our family bloodline and to secure its vast wealth, although I will admit I knew she wished for it to be more. After a great deal of thought, I accepted."

At this, he dropped his head as if in shame. Christine braced herself for his next words. "I was lonely, Christine. I was tired of living with only memories to keep me company, tired of sleeping alone at night, tired of having everything and nothing all at once. Helena knew of my feelings for you, but she was willing to marry me anyway, in the hope that over time, I might come to love her as she knew I loved you. I was both happy, and yet torn at the same time. I felt that I had been disloyal to you somehow, and yet I didn't believe you wanted me." His strong voice faltered, and his eyes held enormous guilt at his imagined sin against her.

Christine considered his words for a moment, and then very softly asked him simply, "Erik, do you still wish to marry her?"

Erik looked up at her incredulously, gathering her into his arms he whispered into her hair, "No, Christine, of course not! How could you even think such a thing?" He released her slightly, holding her arms in his hands. His eyes sought hers with a fierce devotion, determined to make her understand. "Christine, I have always been yours, from the first moment I saw you. There has never been room in my heart for any other, for it is so filled with you, I can scarcely contain it inside my chest. There has been no other in my heart, my mind,...or in my bed. Only you, my love, for so many years now that I have lost count."

The expression of relief on her face let him know that she believed his words. But he wanted to show her, to make her feel the depth of his love, lest she doubt him. He began once more to make love to her; this time slowly and gently, murmuring his adoration and devotion in her ear over and over as their bodies entwined once again.


	33. A New Beginning

**A/N: **The story will take a lighter turn in the next couple of chapters. Not too much angst for a little while, anyway. Thanks to erikfan for your kind comments. I am humbled by your praise.

Ch. 33 – A New Beginning

Later, as they lay idly enjoying the sweetness of their moments together, Christine raised her head and rested it on her elbow to study him once more. "Erik?" she asked gently, "How long have you looked like this?" She hoped he would not be upset by her question. "For about two years now, I believe," he answered quietly. He turned to her, "Why? Does it not please you?" Christine shook her head quickly, "Oh, no darling. You are truly beautiful now, both inside and out, though I always saw you that way." She blushed, "But it's strange... I miss your face. It was part of you, a part of you that you only allowed me to see. Somehow, though I would know you if I were blind, you feel like a different man to me now. Seeing you and loving you like this makes me feel somehow that I am betraying the Angel that I have loved for so long. It is difficult to explain..." her voice trailed off in uncertainty.

He smiled at the innocence of her heart, "Christine, darling, let me assure you that I am in fact that very same man you knew before, and yet a different one as well. I am a whole man now, and a happy one. I am the man today that you deserved then. Don't be ashamed that you miss that part of me that was most distasteful. All that proves is that you have always been able to love me completely, even those parts that I could not love in myself." He stroked her cheek, confiding to her softly, "Strangely, now, I have come to be thankful for that which appeared to be my curse. In the end, it brought me an unbelievable appreciation for all that is good in my life." She smiled, lying back down next to him in peaceful understanding.

She closed her eyes dreamily, fully intending to laze about in the comfort of his arms the entire day, but he refused to allow it. "Come my dear, there is far too much to be done for us to lie abed all day," a devilish half-smile crossed his face as he eyed her naked form beneath the thin sheet that covered her, "although I dare say that would be most enjoyable as well." Christine protested, but in the end tore herself away from his arms to bathe and dress.

She supposed he had some important business to attend to of some sort, and although disappointed, she was content as long as she could be at his side. Looking at her reflection in the mirror when she had finished getting ready, she noticed a flush to her cheeks, a sparkle to her eyes that had been absent for so long. It was Erik, she realized. He held her spirit, and when he was near, it soared within her. She came down the grand stairway at last, fresh and lovely in a gown of a gentle blue. Erik had sent a maid and his driver early that morning to retrieve some of her things from the cottage. She marveled at his thoughtfulness.

When she entered the foyer, she could hear music coming from the conservatory. Grinning widely, she nearly ran down the long hall in her excitement to hear him play and sing once more. Stopping in the doorway, she merely stood watching him for a moment, taking in his masterful form lost in his art as he swayed slightly with the music. Seeing her in the doorway, he changed the tune, playing a familiar love song from an opera she had once performed in as a member of the chorus. She recognized it immediately. It had always been one of her favorites, and she began to hum the tune softly, feeling an urge to sing as never before. Moving to stand beside him, she began in the enchanted voice that she only seemed to find when he was near. He smiled, closing his eyes again to feel her golden voice encompass him. The perfection of it had always drawn him, and if anything there was an even deeper richness and purity to it now that held him spell-bound.

When the song was finished, they walked together hand in hand to the sitting area in the corner of the room. He settled himself in the chair comfortably, and instead of taking the chair next to him, she chose to kneel at his side, leaning her head against his knee as she used to do back when he had been her Angel. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Sing for me Erik, just as you used to before." He smiled at her request, and with one hand stroking her dark head, he sang to her a beautiful aria, one she had never heard before. Her soul thrilled in the rapture of the holy wonder that was his voice. She had forgotten its full grace and power to move her unlike any other sound on earth.

Raising her head, and turning to kneel before him, she looked up at him, with wonder in her eyes, "Erik, do you know that I have never heard a more heavenly voice than yours. All those years you worked so hard to make my voice heard, and yet no one has ever heard your own but me. Do you think now you might consider singing for others some day, my love? Your gifts are so great, you really must consider sharing them." Her eyes were serious, and he was deeply touched by her sincere praise.

He leaned forward, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Thank you, my dear, truly, but I think I prefer to sing only for you." He stood and pulled her up beside him. "Now, Christine, in my moments of inspiration this morning, I had forgotten the urgent errand to which we must attend. A late breakfast is waiting for us in the garden, and then we really must be off."

She tucked her arm in his and leaned her head on his shoulder as they stepped out into the sunshine. She couldn't hide her delight in the splendor of Erik's gardens, and he watched her face light as she explored curiously. He had known she would be pleased. Christine had always admired flowers. They shared a lovely breakfast, enjoying each other's company as if they had never been separated.

As they finished their meal, he wondered how to broach the delicate subject that lay ahead of him. After the years they had lost, he wanted to waste no more time in making her his wife. However, he was not certain how she would react to the news of his heritage and his new last name. He stood up, taking her arm in his, "Come, darling, let's go for a walk."

Christine was enchanted, pausing like a child to examine every type of flower along the way, and Erik patiently recited the name of each one in turn. When they reached the breathtaking fountain in the center of the gardens, Erik drew her down to sit next to him. "I have something most important I must tell you Christine. It may be difficult for you to understand at first, but I will try to help you in any way I can." Christine wondered why he suddenly looked so serious, but patiently waited for him to explain.

As he gathered his thoughts for a moment, she took the opportunity to study him. He looked regal this morning in a crisp white shirt and a deep midnight blue vest covered in delicate embroidery. She loved the easy grace with which he moved and the brilliance of his mind, easily naming every flower in the garden that she had pointed out. She wondered that she had ever thought this remarkable man to be somehow unworthy of her regard. In truth, she now felt it was she who had little to offer him in all his talent and genius.

Finally, taking Christine's hand in his, Erik began the long story of his history, beginning with all that Helena had revealed to him. Christine's eyes widened, but she did not speak, wanting to hear all that he had to say. At last, he looked up at her, trying to assess whether or not the news had upset her.

Her reaction was entirely different from what he had envisioned. She threw her arms around his neck, laughing in delight, "Erik, you have a family!" There were tears in her eyes as she brought her hands to his face. "I am so happy for you!" He returned her embrace with surprise, and then cautiously continued, "You realize my dear that this makes me the current Comte de Chagny?" Christine looked at him puzzled, "Yes, of course." Her reaction was a still mystery to him. "And you understand that I would have been half-brother to Raoul?" he quietly ventured. Christine lowered her voice meeting his eyes with certainty, understanding now his hesitance, "Yes, Erik, I understand."

Seeing her unwavering acceptance, he took a deep breath, withdrawing a small box from his pocket that he had purchased earlier that morning while she had been dressing. He knelt down on one knee before her, gazing up at her lovely face in the sunlight, still amazed by his good fortune in having her love at last. With a trembling hand, he withdrew from the box a ring, stunning in its simple elegant beauty, just as she was.

She searched his eyes, wondering at his intentions, and then upon seeing the ring understanding dawned and she began to cry - this time tears of joy and gratitude. He smiled up at her, a gentle smile of absolute love and trust, "Christine, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife at last?" Christine smiled in return, and without hesitation, slipped the ring on her finger and threw her arms around him. They stayed there for many moments, simply holding each other in their contentment.

At last, Erik stood, drawing his new fiancé up beside him. As they walked hand in hand back to the house, Christine looked down to admire her new ring, and in doing so, noticed with a gasp the ring that he still wore on his little finger after all the years that had passed and all that had happened between them. He followed her gaze and said simply, "I told you before, my love, I have always belonged to you, even when you could not be with me."


	34. Two Broken That They Might Be Made One

**A/N: **We arrive at the inevitable moment of E and C's wedding. Again, do not fear, I will allow our lovers a few chapters of peace.

phantomann: Thank you for your generous comments in your review from Ch 31. And _of course_ all their pain is behind them! I have no idea what you might be implying! (author feigns innocence)

Ch. 34 – Two Broken That They Might Be Made One

Later that afternoon, they went into town to make the necessary arrangements for their wedding. It was decided that it would be a simple ceremony, with no guests. When they arrived before a majestic cathedral, Christine raised an eyebrow curiously, remembering Erik's former aversion to anything having to do with religion. He laughed at her perplexed look, but merely patted her arm, "I think you will find me to be a reformed man in all respects, my dear. I have been a devoted attendee every Sunday for the past two years. Father Dominic knows me well, and will be happy to perform the service." Just as Erik had said he would be, Father Dominic was overjoyed to hear of their plans, and the service was planned for the following Sunday.

With the arrangements made, Christine was concerned that she would never find a dressmaker who would be able to complete a wedding dress for her in so short of a time. Erik suggested a woman whose reputation was well known in the city, and paid her a handsome sum to give his future wife the dress of her dreams and to make up for the haste in which it was needed. The dressmaker was a warm, cheerful woman who delighted in working with a beauty such as Christine, and took great care in helping her to design the perfect dress.

The week before the wedding passed in a dreamy haze. For the first time in three years, Erik did not work the entire week, but instead, spent every minute with his future wife, making up for the time they had lost. They sat in the park on a blanket, her head resting on his shoulder as he read poetry to her in his rich, musical voice. They walked on the shores of the beach, Christine convincing a rather squeamish Erik to go barefoot outdoors for the first time in his adult life. They strolled through the market place, Christine shining with pleasure at all the exotic colors and sounds they encountered, and Erik smiling indulgently. The nights were filled with passion and utter contentment, as they lay face to face, their bodies spent, but their eyes continuing to speak volumes long after their voices were silent.

On Sunday morning, they attended mass together, and after the service, they arranged to pick up Christine's dress. She stubbornly insisted that she be returned to the church to get ready so Erik would not see her in her wedding dress before the ceremony. Erik had protested initially, but as always relented to her girlish whims, and instead sent a maid from the house to help her dress.

Christine took great care in her appearance, wanting deeply to please her new husband. With the help of her maid, she slipped the elegant dress around her shoulders. It fit her perfectly, and suited her slender, well-proportioned frame. As she looked in the mirror, she was startled by the thought that the dress looked vaguely familiar, even though she and the dressmaker and designed it entirely themselves. With a merry laugh at how much their minds tended to think alike, she realized that the dress she thought she designed from scratch, was almost entirely the same dress as Erik had made for her all those years ago. Her taste so matched his own, that unknowingly she had created one virtually the same.

Christine piled her hair loosely at the back of her head, allowing several curls to trail down her neck onto her bare shoulders. She slipped a strand of fine pearls around her neck that had belonged to Elsa, and added the matching earrings to her ears. Finally, her maid, Jocelyn stood behind her and helped her to arrange her veil atop her crown of curls. The veil was somewhat shorter than a traditional veil, rising up slightly from the top of her head to drop in a smooth cascade of lace just below her shoulders. As she and Jocelyn studied her appearance one last time in the mirror, she was struck sadly by how differently she looked today than the frightened girl she had been the last time she had dressed to become part of the de Chagny family. Smiling softly, the radiance returning to her transformed face, Christine realized what had been missing that day was Erik. What a difference his love had made in her life and what a blessing he was. She thanked Jocelyn kindly, and then moved in a rustle of silk to leave the room and finally embrace her destiny.

She could hear the familiar notes of "Canon in D" reverberating through the hallowed halls of the church from a violin somewhere in the choir loft above. It was Erik's gift to her, and hearing the sound she remembered her father and silently asked him to bless her marriage. Knowing Erik had taken great pains to find a worthy musician, mainly because he could not abide imperfection in any form, least of all in music, she let the flawless sound envelope her as she began her march toward the alter. As she saw him standing there, handsome and whole with pure undisguised love radiating from his eyes, she thought of God's mysterious workings in their lives. She understood with sudden clarity that God had broken each of them in sorrow and suffering so that they might be made whole in each other – two shattered souls merged as one complete being at last.

Erik watched his beloved angel walking toward him up the aisle of the church. He could not help but wonder at God's boundless generosity toward him in the last three years. Of all the gifts he had been given, the one he was about to claim was by far the most precious and the least deserved. As she reached him at last, their eyes met, and he took her hand, pausing to tell her in a breaking voice, "Christine, I have never seen you more lovely than on this day. I love you." Christine smiled serenely up into the strong face that she adored, "And I you, my love." He tucked her arm in his and together they stepped forward to at last take together the vows that they had each sworn separately to God long ago.

Father Dominic watched the two figures before him as he read the familiar words of the wedding mass. He had officiated over many marriages, but for some reason the union of the powerful, mysterious Comte and the tiny, young beauty before him seemed different from the rest - as if God himself had ordained it and was now present in the room to watch it come to pass. The priest knew without a doubt that he was witnessing something divine. As he read the words of scripture, he added his own prayer silently behind them, "Those whom God has joined together, let no one put asunder. Amen."


	35. God's Hand Revealed

**A/N: **Permit me a tiny bit of humor in this chapter. Also, remember in the movie which this story is loosely based on Christine never learns Erik's name. In fact, it is never mentioned by anyone.

Ch. 35 – God's Hand Revealed

After the ceremony, on their way to Elsa's cottage where Christine had suggested they spend their honeymoon, Christine leaned her head back against Erik's shoulder in contentment. She stared thoughtfully at her wedding ring for a moment. Finally, she asked the question that had been nagging at her mind since the first night when she had seen him again. "Erik, when we last left each other three years ago, there were so many misunderstandings between us. That night I returned to you, you were so angry, so distrustful of me at first. You were going to send me away. Then you came back to me as if you finally understood all that had happened, and yet you have never asked me for any further explanation. Why not?" She turned in her seat so she could look up at him from the safety of his protective arm. Not wanting to upset him, but curious, she waited.

Erik smiled down at her. "I didn't feel the need to ask what I already knew," he said quietly, withdrawing from his breast pocket a worn letter, its edges scorched by the unmistakable mark of fire. Christine reached for it curiously, then seeing the writing in her own hand, realized what she held in front of her. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Erik, I wrote this the night I believed you had died. I read it to you in heaven, where I believed you to be." Her fingers trembled, marveling at the work of God's hand. She looked up at him in wonder, "That night, I prayed for God to take my words to you...and he did Erik! He did! I threw it in the fire, wanting only you to ever read it. God heard my prayers and he brought this to you."

Her eyes shown with tears, and he kissed her forehead gently, "Indeed He did my dear. But I do believe God had some help from an angel of his own." He produced from his pocket the other part of the letter, and Christine recognized at once the familiar, elegant script. "Elsa!" she breathed, bringing a hand to cover her mouth in astonishment, as she read the letter that had accompanied her own.

Happy tears spilled from her eyes, and she giggled suddenly peeking playfully up at her new husband, "I thought somehow that first night was far too easy. I imagined you would punish me horribly, and instead you welcomed me rather...warmly, considering all you believed I had done to you before." Erik's musical laugh filled the carriage, as they both remembered that first passion filled evening. "Indeed, my dear, we have much to thank your dear friend for. I have her to thank for sending you back to me, and you have her to thank for making your apologies for you and saving you from my vengeful wrath."

His eyes still full of merriment, Erik paused thoughtfully, "You know, since we are on the subject of unanswered questions, I have one for you as well, my dear. The night you showed up on my doorstep, you addressed me immediately as "Erik". It occurred to me that I had never given you my name. How did you finally learn it after all these years?"

Christine thought for a second, trying to remember the exact moment when she had discovered it. Suddenly it dawned on her, "Come to think of it, I believe it was from your gardener." Her eyes widened, "Of all the insufferably enigmatic men, Erik de Chagny! You are willing to give your gardener you name without a thought, and yet you withheld it from me for nearly fifteen years!" The look of indignation on her face was so priceless, Erik could not help but laugh mightily. After her initial annoyance, even Christine dissolved into a fit of giggles.

At the sound of highly undignified laughter coming from inside the carriage, the driver shook his head disapprovingly. "Newlyweds," he muttered to himself.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the lovely cottage, and Erik allowed Christine to lead him through it, showing him every room with pride.

Later, they spent the afternoon making love for the first time as husband and wife in the bright bedroom at the top of the stairs with the balcony door open to the sea. In the hushed silence that followed, they sat in a rocking chair wrapped in blankets. Christine sat in Erik's lap watching the sun set over the water as the sheer draperies danced lazily around them in the soft breeze. Erik kissed her cheek, and feeling the warmth and joy of the moment surround him whispered tenderly, "I have never been as happy as I am this very moment. Thank you, Christine." He nuzzled his face in her hair as his eyes filled with tears of joy. Christine turned her face up to meet his lips, telling him without words that it was the same for her as well.


	36. Happy, Golden Days

**A/N: **I am going to be gone this evening, so I am posting tonight's chapters a little early. Also, I may take to posting a few more chapters at a time. I don't want you to get tired of waiting for my posts and next week is going to be really busy for me. There are 49 chapters and an epilogue in all. The reviews have tapered off a bit, and I think I am in withdrawal. It makes me so happy to see that little window pop up at the bottom of the screen!

romancebooklover4ever - I forgot to answer your question from a ways back. Yes, I am undoubtedly female. You can probably tell by the way I repeatedly drool over Erik. Although I am sure there are men who drool over him too. Who wouldn't?

PS – phantomann: I never said that there would be strife in their _marriage_. (winks mysteriously) Besides, look at all the romantic fluff I've been throwing your way lately. Look at the title of the next chapter for Pete's sake. And still you doubt me?

Ch. 36 – Happy, Golden Days

One week later, it was time to go back to the sweeping mansion that would be their new home. With a trace of regret in leaving behind the magic they had shared over those few days, they packed and walked hand in hand out to the carriage.

Once they had returned to the grand house, Erik resumed his work, albeit at a much less frantic pace, much to the relief of his coworkers who had never quite been able to match his single-minded dedication and endurance. Christine thoroughly enjoyed being the mistress of Erik's home, and devoted herself to working in the garden, rearranging the furniture, and helping to select menus that she knew her husband would enjoy. Every evening, they would join each other in the conservatory after dinner. Sometimes Erik would play for her, and other nights they would sing together, each delighting in the other's voice.

On days when Christine could convince Erik not to work, they would visit nearby museums, attend the ballet, or simply sit reading together in the gardens or the library.

After six months of bliss unlike either of them had ever known, Christine began to suspect she harbored a tiny secret. After another week she knew it. While Erik was away at the office one afternoon, she arranged for a doctor to come to the house where he confirmed what she had already known in her heart.

She dressed carefully for supper that night, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of her secret. She awaited Erik's return with girlish impatience, watching out the window for his carriage. When she saw his tall form emerge at last and step gracefully up the front steps, she stood waiting for him at the top of the stairs. Pleasantly surprised to see her waiting for him at the door, Erik smiled and kissed her tenderly, happy to be home. But as he looked at her, the sparkle in her eyes told him she had something to share with him, and he waited patiently for her to divulge it.

"You look ravishing, my dear as always. To what do I owe the honor of this magnificent welcome?" He looked at her with an amused smile. She brought his mouth down to meet hers once more, then, holding his face in her hand, she replied softly, "You owe this magnificent welcome to the fact that at this very moment, I am carrying within me our very first child."

She had known this news would come as a shock to him, but she hadn't been prepared for his reaction. He looked as if he might faint. Laughing gently, she steered him to the bench that sat along the wall of the foyer. "You're sure?" he managed to ask. She nodded serenely, "The doctor was here this afternoon."

"And everything is fine? You are fine? And the child is fine?" he asked carefully.

She laid her hand on his cheek to reassure him. "The doctor said everything is progressing exactly as it should be."

"When?" he asked slowly.

"About seven months from now," she told him softly.

With joy and love in his eyes, he stood and pulled her to him. Soberly, he told her in wonder, "Whenever I think that I could never be any happier, you always prove me wrong. I can never repay you for all the good that you have brought to my life, Christine." He buried his face in her shoulder, holding her tightly.

Christine lifted his head to look in her eyes, "I did not give you this gift, my love, we made it together. You have given this gift as much to me as I have to you. Do not talk of repaying me, my darling. Surely you know by now that you are more than enough. You are my gift, and I could never ask for more." He nodded slowly at her and straightening, he offered his wife his arm to accompany him inside for dinner.


	37. God's Gifts

A/N: One quick note, this chapter will begin with a normal timeline, but you will notice it speeds up toward the end of the chapter, skimming over a period of about 20 years, just giving bits and pieces. You will understand when you read. And no, phanotmann, you suspicious reader you, that is definitely NOT foreshadowing at the end.

Ch. 37 – God's Gifts

Christine sighed with exhausted contentment. She had spent the afternoon overseeing the final touches on the new nursery. It was finished at last, and none too soon, she thought bringing a hand to her swollen belly. Instantly concerned at the sound of her sigh, Erik glanced up at her from the sketches he was working on. Standing with great effort, she walked over to pat his hand reassuringly. Ever since he had learned of her pregnancy, Erik had been fearfully protective, treating her as if she were a china doll. Christine understood that even as far as he had come in the last few years, Erik still did not trust entirely all the good that had come into his life. After all the pain he had suffered in his past, she still noticed a caution, a hesitation in his acceptance of God's gifts, as though he was still unsure they would not be taken away any moment.

It had been so with this baby. He was excited beyond words for its birth, she knew that with certainty, and yet it was as if he couldn't quite believe yet another blessing would be bestowed upon him so casually. As he returned to his work, she smiled softly down at him. Someday he would be able to love without fear. She would make sure of that.

Later that night, Erik felt her hand on his arm. He turned his head to face her, his eyes still half closed. She was lying on her side, her face turned to him - a certain unusual glow and excitement lighting her face. He opened his eyes fully, his question plain. She smiled gently, "Yes, darling. It's time."

Hours later, Erik paced franticly outside the door of the room where the doctor was examining Christine. She had told him that it would be a long process, but if these hours had been so difficult for him, what must they have been like for her? He sat down weakly in a chair that had been placed outside the door for him.

As the minutes ticked by, his fear and uncertainty grew. If anything happened to Christine, he didn't know what he would do. It was not uncommon for women to die in childbirth. His own mother, he now knew had died giving birth to him and his brother. The thought, although certainly not new to him, nearly choked him with fear.

He stood up. He had to know what was happening. It had been hours since anyone had told him anything, and he couldn't stand to wait any longer. Just as he moved to grasp the handle of the door, it opened of his own accord, and the doctor stepped out. He looked weary, but he smiled a kind, reassuring smile as he took in Erik's pale, worried appearance. The doctor extended his hand, and Erik shook it distractedly, still waiting for news. "Congratulations, Comte de Chagny. You have a lovely, healthy son." Erik's eyes widened, his features relaxing. "And Christine..." he couldn't bear to finish the question. The doctor patted his arm. "It was not easy for her, but she was very brave and she will be fine in a matter of days." Erik bowed his head and closed his eyes, exhaling in relief. When he raised his head again, his eyes shone with joy and gratitude. "Thank you, good doctor. May I see her now?" The doctor laughed at the boyish impatience in the Comte's eyes, "Certainly."

Erik hesitated at the door for a moment, then opened it and quietly stepped inside. Christine looked up at him, and her eyes met his in a tender, radiant smile. She was pale and looked exhausted, but her smile reassured him and he stepped forward in relief to kiss her forehead and reach for her hand. She could feel his tears as he leaned his forehead against her own, his voice choking with emotion, "Christine, I was so worried. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you again."

She squeezed his hand, and as he lifted his head, he noticed suddenly the tiny bundle snuggled in the curve of her arm. Seeing the look of wonderment in his eyes, Christine asked softly, "Erik, would you like to hold your son?" Erik hesitated for a moment, but her eyes encouraged him and he held out his arms uncertainly. Christine lifted the sleeping bundle and gently placed the baby in Erik's strong arms.

Straightening, Erik stared at the tiny life they had created that now lay sleeping so trustingly in his hands. The baby had dark hair, and a tiny cleft in his chin that Erik recognized immediately as his own. His face was perfect, like that of his mother – creamy skin, and soft pink cheeks. Erik reached out to touch the five perfect tiny fingers clutching the blanket. Stirring slightly, the baby opened his fist, and reached out to grasp Erik's index finger instead. Joy and pride washed over Erik's face, as he looked at Christine in amazement. He sat down next to her on the bed, his new son in one arm, and his beloved wife in the other. Sunlight streamed through the window, and it was as if God himself were present in the room.

After several moments, Erik whispered, "What name shall we give him, Christine?" Her eyes twinkled as she smiled up at him, "I was thinking Erik Philippe de Chagny."

In the months that followed, Erik-Philippe, as they had taken to calling him to avoid confusion with his father, grew strong and healthy. At seven months he was crawling, and by eight months, he was toddling everywhere. He was intensely curious, and his mother was constantly removing forbidden objects from his chubby fist. Erik had taken to doing most of his work in an office he had prepared in the west wing of the house near the nursery so that he could spend more time with his small, but happy family.

They took pleasant walks through the gardens, wheeling Erik-Philippe in the baby carriage, or sometimes allowing him to toddle down the path on his own, as he preferred to do. Over the summer, they took him to the seashore, and watched arm and arm as he curiously investigated various marine creatures that washed ashore. At three years of age, his father began to teach him the piano, and by four, Erik-Philippe was well on his way to becoming a musical prodigy like his father. Although a loving and affectionate child, he had his father's seriousness and desire for perfection, becoming intensely frustrated if his young body could not match the maturity of his mind. As soon as he learned to read, Erik-Philippe had nearly taken up residence in the library, choosing to spend his days there rather than in the nursery playing with his innumerable toys. To help fill his insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge, his parents employed a tutor shortly after who lived in the east wing of the house, and gave the remarkably intelligent boy daily lessons, which unlike most children, Erik-Philippe looked forward to. He delighted in the outdoors, but hated to be dirty, often requesting a bath and a fresh change of clothing if he got so much as a hint of dirt on himself.

Christine delighted in the boy's uncanny resemblance in both appearance and manner to his father. Erik-Philippe in turn adored her, begging her to sing to him at night, and frequently coming to her for kisses when he scraped his knee. And as for Erik, the joys of having a son were almost overwhelming. He would often spend the afternoon patiently explaining a piece of music or poetry to his always inquisitive son. When Erik-Philippe interrupted his work to watch him make his sketches, Erik would take him onto his knee, set the sketches aside, and place the charcoal pencil in his son's hand, guiding it with his own across the paper to form castles, or dragons, or whatever fancy Erik-Philippe wished to see. In the library, Christine would often find the two together in her window seat: Erik reading a story book, and his son leaning against his chest lost in the sound of his father's rich, musical voice. Sometimes they would both fall asleep there, and Christine would marvel at the two of them, so alike and so content in each other's arms.

Just before Christmas, Erik-Philippe entered his father's study one day, waiting patiently until Erik looked up from his work and reached down to pick him up. Looking up at his father with eyes that were entirely his mother's, the boy asked quietly, "Papa, have I been good this year?" Erik smiled down at him with utter adoration, "Of course you have, Erik-Philippe. You are always very good." Erik-Philippe nodded solemnly, then climbed down from his father's lap. Just before he left the room, he turned back to his father, and in his uncommonly grown-up way of speaking stated simply, "Then we shall be needing more room in the stable soon father, for Saint Nicolas will be bringing me a pony." Amused, but careful not to offend the child, Erik nodded in a similar serious fashion, "I suppose we will then. I will attend to it immediately."

Erik-Philippe did indeed receive a pony for Christmas that year. And later that spring, he received yet another surprise – twin brothers. Once again, Christine endured a difficult delivery, but the boys were born healthy and strong. After careful thought, the twins were named Alexander Nicholas and Frederick Henry de Chagny. Although the twins also resembled their father, with the exception of their mother's eyes, it was apparent very early on, that they had not inherited his serious nature like their older brother.

Instead, the twins tended to take after their mother in disposition. They were sweet, gentle boys who delighted in the world around them. Although equally as intelligent as Erik-Philippe, they were nowhere near as dedicated in their pursuit of knowledge, choosing instead to play outdoors, or run races in the magnificent hallways of their enormous home. Although they were nearly identical to each other in looks, their personalities, while similar were also distinct from one another. Alexander tended to gravitate toward artistic endeavors, taking to sculpture and painting, and playing the cello rather than the piano like his older brother. He was the quieter of the twins, easygoing and good-natured, but responsible when he needed to be. Frederick, on the other hand tended to be a dreamer at heart. He had a lovely singing voice, as did his brothers and had taken to the violin quite naturally. He often would sit reading and writing poetry in the garden, and would frequently lose track of time, appearing late for supper or lessons more often than not.

Christine and Erik delighted in the company of their beloved boys, and their children in turn adored their parents. They often took trips together, frequently attended the opera or the ballet, and on many occasions by request entertained guests with a family musical performance in the conservatory. It was often remarked by others who knew the family socially that they had never seen the likes of the de Chagny family in either talent or in closeness.

Erik-Philippe attended the University at sixteen, and became an apprentice to his father in the architectural firm at eighteen. The twins, at twelve joined the National Academy of Music, and at fourteen were becoming quite accomplished musicians in their own right.

While their children were away in their various endeavors, Erik and Christine took comfort once more in each other's presence. Nearly twenty years of peace and happiness had gone by since they had been married, and yet they were more in love now than ever, if possible. After hearing tales of scandal from the staff of other noble houses throughout the city, the servants of the de Chagny family often boasted proudly amongst themselves that there had never been such a perfect match and such an obviously divine love than that of their master and mistress. And to all who knew them, that fact was obvious. The two of them were seldom seen socially, preferring to remain most often in the company of one another, or that of their children. Their love and respect for each other was evident in the way they looked at each other, touched each other, talked to each other. It was often said they treated their love as a gift, never failing to appreciate one another, as so often happened in marriages. Life was rich and full. For the moment, all was as it should be.


	38. He Giveth and He Taketh Away

**A/N:** See the end of the chapter.

Ch. 38 – He Giveth and He Taketh Away

One summer evening, as they strolled through the park near their home, Erik noticed that Christine seemed much more quiet and subdued than usual. Concerned, he led her to a bench near a small pond at the edge of the path, and the two sat arm and arm gazing over the water. Erik gently stroked her hand with his thumb and inquired softly, "Is something bothering you, my dear?"

Christine looked up lovingly at his still handsome face. In all the years they had known each other, he never seemed to age at all. She often thought that it was as if God had made up for the disfigurement of the first thirty years of his life by allowing him to remain eternally beautiful for the remainder of it. And yet, it was not Erik's appearance that was his real beauty. The radiance of his soul was his true glory. It was that beauty that had drawn her so many years ago and continued to hold her now.

Accustomed to his perceptiveness when it came to her emotions, she responded to his question simply, "I think I am just tired, Erik. Even though I am nearly twenty years younger than you are, I have never had your boundless energy." She smiled reassuringly, but her explanation did not dispel his unease.

She looked pale, he thought, and thin suddenly. His concern growing, he stood up. "I think, Christine, that you should see a doctor. You haven't seemed yourself lately, and you know the boys will be worried if they see you this way next week when they come home for their visit." Christine knew him well enough to know that the real reason was to satisfy his own worries, but she sighed. "All right, my dear, if you think it is necessary, I will send for the doctor tomorrow morning." He bent and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Thank you, my love. Now, let's go home."

The next day, dawned gloomy and dismal. Erik sat staring out at the rain through the window of his study. The doctor was examining Christine in the next room, and he was impatiently awaiting his diagnosis. Something was wrong. He could feel it. As always, he was as attuned to Christine as he was to the beating of his own heart, and ever since their conversation in the park the day before he had been distinctly uneasy. As tense as he was, he nearly jumped at the slight knock on the study door. He stood abruptly, then relaxed slightly as Christine entered, smiling, with a rather bemused look on her face. Erik looked at her anxiously, but she walked up to him and laced her arms around his neck, kissing him gently. "How would you like to be a father again, my love?"

Erik was overjoyed at the prospect of another child. Secretly, he wished for a girl this time, a tiny picture of Christine with chestnut curls and big brown eyes. And yet, something about this pregnancy worried him. Even though he was a good deal older, Christine was no longer young – nearly forty. He thought guiltily that they should have perhaps been more careful to avoid the unnecessary risk to her. As deeply in love as they were, they never tired of each other, and their love making had never diminished in its frequency even from the first year of their marriage. And yet, Christine seemed exquisitely happy at the idea of another child. She was a born mother who delighted in her children and she too wished for a little girl to add to their happy family.

But this time her pregnancy was different. In contrast to the ease of her first two, she was often sick, and had difficulty gaining weight. She remained abed for days at a time, much to her displeasure, but she was simply too weak to move. Erik was with her constantly, reading to her, singing to her, holding her when she became frustrated with her incapacitation or frightened by her constant sickness. The boys had been delighted at the news of their future sibling, but after seeing their mother in so much suffering, they secretly shared in their father's concern. Erik-Philippe would visit nearly every night for supper, and the twins returned every weekend from the Academy. They would attempt to amuse her with anecdotes from their travels and shock her with their irreverent comments to the conductor. She would smile and laugh, and try to reassure them that everything was fine, but deep down, she knew it wasn't.

Finally, her due date drew near. She had been confined to her bed permanently for the past three months. Erik quietly entered the room, carrying a tray for her supper. She smiled weakly at him, her love shining in her eyes, though she had not the strength to extend it to her smile. He sat down next to her in the chair that he had occupied every night for the past three months, and set the tray on the table beside her. "It smells heavenly darling. Did you make it yourself?" He nodded, but his face was solemn, and though he smiled slightly for her benefit, she could see that he was feeling the same sense of foreboding as she was. As much as she wanted to protect him from her fears, he had always sensed her feelings without her words anyway. There was no way to protect him from this.

She was not worried for herself. Her faith was unshakeable after all the miracles she had witnessed in her short life. She worried only for Erik and for her children and her baby. She knew she was loved and needed beyond measure in her family, and her only thought now was what she could do to make this easier for them. She reached her hand up to touch his face, brushing back the tears that she could see tracing their path down his cheek. His voice broke, and he could not face her as he finally managed to put into words the fear that had been crushing him for the past nine months. "Christine, I ...I don't know what to do. I...I am so sorry for what I have done to you." He raised his face to her in wretched guilt, "I should never have put you in this position. I would gladly take your place, Christine. I have begged God to take me instead. I deserve it. You have done nothing but good. Why won't he take me instead?" His head hung, and he sobbed brokenly.

Summoning all her strength, Christine sat up, tears brimming in her own eyes at his pain. She cupped his cheek and forced him to meet her eyes. Gently, she whispered, "You have done nothing except love me without fail for over thirty years, Erik. I would not give up one day that we have shared over this lifetime, even for the promise of immortality itself." He laid his head on her shoulder burying his face into her curls as he so often had done throughout the years. His voice was small and muffled, "Let me go with you then. I beg God to take me as well. I can't bear life without you, Christine. I cannot..." Her heart broke at his words, but she could not allow him to continue in this dangerous line of thought. There was too much at stake. After all his years as her angel, her protector, this time she would be his strength.

Her voice was gentle, but firm as she spoke the words she knew needed to be said. "Erik, you are needed here. Your sons and this baby will need you now more than ever. Even in your grief, you cannot let it overwhelm you. You cannot hide in darkness after all the light God has granted you. It would be a sin against Him, against me, and against our family. I am entrusting you with that which is most dear to me, aside from you, and that is my children. I am the heart of this family, but you are its soul and its strength. You cannot abandon these lives that we have created when your own becomes too painful." She stroked his head, and he lay sobbing like a child in her lap. She spoke again, "Erik, promise me that whatever happens you will not let your grief consume you. Promise me on our love that you will be strong for our children." She lifted his head gently, her eyes solemn and serious, pleading with him to ease her mind and grant her the peace of knowing her family would be safe, no matter what lay ahead.

Through all his sorrow and anguish, Erik as always could sense her need for his reassurance. He looked up at her, still so radiant and beautiful, even in her suffering. He reached his hand up and lifted a wayward curl back from her face, brushing his fingers across her cheek softly. No matter how it pained him to live without her, he had never been able to refuse her anything, and even this request which would be so much more difficult than any other, he could not deny. His voice was filled with emotion, but his eyes did not leave hers as he spoke, "Christine, I love you. I have loved you every moment since I first saw you. I have loved no other, and I will love only you until the day that I die, and beyond that if it is possible. You have given me so much happiness...I cannot even put it into words. If God should take you, my very soul goes with you, for you are so entwined within in me that I will never be whole again. I cannot change that. I do not know where I will find the strength to go on living without you, but because I owe you so much, I will try. I will not fail you, Christine. No matter how much it hurts, I will do whatever I can to keep our family together, if God forbid you should leave us." His tears continued, but she could see his promise in his eyes. Christine sighed in relief.

She motioned for him to join her on the bed. He lay down beside her, pulling her into the safe, loving circle of his arms. She lay against him, closing her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It occurred to her as she lay there half awake and half asleep that it was that same steadfast rhythm that had brought her comfort through every ordeal of her life for the past twenty years, and even before. With urgency, she turned her face up to his. His eyes were open, and she whispered simply, "Erik I love you. Thank you." He nodded, unable to speak. He knew what she meant. Satisfied, Christine snuggled back into his arms and fell asleep peacefully, in what she somehow knew would be her last night in his arms.

Somewhere in the night, lights began to appear in various rooms around the de Chagny house. A motor carriage arrived, and a figure carrying a medical bag rushed hurriedly up the front steps. Hours later, two sounds echoed into the night. The first was the cry of a tiny baby, a girl, taking her first breath in the world. The second, was the anguished cry of a man who had just witnessed his beloved wife taking her last.

**A/N: **Okay, I am a little scared of you all right now, so I am not going to post anymore until tomorrow. I know I did an evil, evil thing. But it is not the end, and it will be almost entirely Erik from now on. I cried when I wrote this section. I think everybody wants to be loved like that. Let me know if I made you cry, that would make my day! (Okay, I didn't mean it like that.)

Couple of _real_ author's notes – When Christine says Erik has loved her without fail for the past thirty years, please remember that she did not say they had been married thirty years. They have been married about 20.5 years at this point, but according to my calculations counting the years at the Opera House and the three years they were separated in between, that should be close to thirty years. Also, since twenty years have passed we are now in the age of motor cars instead of carriages. And as for how Christine knows somehow she isn't going to live through the night, I can only say that she just knows.


	39. Life After You

**A/N:** I hope everyone has had a little time to grieve, take some deep breaths, and of course to forgive your repentant author. (romancebooklworm4ever – That is the second time you have threatened to decapitate me, so I had better behave from now on. Oh, and you can have your choice of the twins to make up for what I have put you through. ) With my hand on a stack of Bibles, I do hereby solemnly promise not to kill anyone off ever aga...ok, for a long time at least.

Thank you to my faithful reviewers. To phantomann: I appreciate your understanding. I _did_ give them twenty years of bliss, right? And yes, I lied about the foreshadowing thing. And to GerrysJackie, I will make it my personal goal to make you smile again.

Because I have been so naughty today, I am posting my next three chapters about 7 hours earlier than usual as a peace offering.

Ch. 39 – Life After You

Those who attended the funeral of Comtesse Christine de Chagny would often say that it was one of the most beautiful and difficult they had ever attended. White lilies and red roses adorned the simple mahogany casket, as a violin from somewhere unseen played a hauntingly soulful lament. As the priest finished his words, the crowd began to filter away, leaving the grieving family in solitude to say their goodbyes.

Father Dominic looked at the de Chagny family that he had come to know so well over the past twenty years. They stood solemnly before him dressed all in black, their usual joy and song replaced with sorrow and silence. It was strange. The four towering, intelligent de Chagny men now seemed lost and helpless without the tiny, soft-spoken Comtesse to guide them. The boys were heart broken, their grief evident. Erik-Philippe stood tall next to his father, ever solemn and quiet, yet his brown eyes spoke volumes of the anguish inside. Alexander and Frederick stood beside him. Alexander's proud dark head was bowed, his shoulders shaking slightly. Frederick's usual playful, mischievous smile was replaced with openly shed tears.

The priest turned his kind eyes to the Comte. Of all men he had met in his life, he had never known a greater paradox than Erik de Chagny. The man radiated power and strength, and yet he had never seen a man more gentle or loving with his family, nor as shattered by his wife's loss. Erik and Christine had shared a love to which he had never yet come across an equal. Over the years, he had seen firsthand how they adored each other with their eyes, how they seemed to light up in each other's presence. Christine had been a strong woman, but she had leaned heavily on her husband. Looking at him now, Dominic realized without a doubt that Erik had leaned on her just as heavily. It was as if they were two halves of the same whole, one spirit in two bodies. And now without his beloved wife, the man before him seemed incomplete.

The Comte looked regal today as usual, but his shoulder hunched ever so slightly, and he looked suddenly weary and old. Father Dominic realized with a shock that the Comte must be nearly sixty years in age, though he would never have guessed it from his appearance before. The priest searched the pale, expressionless face of his dear friend. The intelligence of the blue-gray eyes was still there, but the fire that had always been present in them was noticeably absent. Now those once intense, animated eyes seemed empty as they stared straight ahead at his wife's casket. The Comte seemed detached from all around him, as if lost in a world where his Christine still walked among the living. And in his arms, the most heart-rending image of all – a tiny baby girl dressed all in black, the picture of her mother with fine auburn curls, pink cheeks, and the dazzling blue-gray eyes of her father.

Father Dominic stepped forward and put his hand on the Comte's shoulder, his face flooded with sympathy. "God is with you and your family, dear friend." Erik's anguished eyes turned slowly toward the priest, and he lowered his head. "I know, Father." The priest smiled gently. _Yes, this family will be all right in time. Never the same, but all right,_ he thought.

Father Dominic reached down to trace the image of the cross on the baby's forehead. "You have a truly beautiful daughter, Erik. May she continue to be blessed by God's hand, as she already has by being born into this extraordinary family." Erik looked up at his words and followed the priest's gaze toward his beloved boys. They were men now, good men and strong. All of them were kind and loving like their mother, good hearted boys who had been there to help him with the baby after Christine's death and who had changed their own plans so that they might return to help raise their little sister.

Yes, he realized suddenly, they were an extraordinary family - the love and respect that abounded among them was not common, but special. And he and Christine, through their love had created that family. Erik straightened his shoulders. No, as much pain as he felt at her loss, he would protect this family that they had made, and he would be there to watch over it until Fate saw fit to reunite him with his Angel. Looking down at the sleeping bundle in his arms, he thanked God as he had so many times before for Christine and for his children.

Holding his precious daughter even more closely to him, he extended his other hand to the priest. His eyes were sincere as he shook Father Dominic's hand, "Thank you Father, for everything. My family and I will see you this Sunday at mass." The priest nodded solemnly and then departed in order to give the family privacy in their grief.

Erik walked over to the three boys. Silently, he embraced each one in turn. Turning to face them all, he spoke quietly, "Your mother was a remarkable woman. She was loved greatly in this family, and we will never be the same without her, nor will we ever forget her. But now we have a responsibility to her. Her greatest joy in life was this family, and our task is to protect it and each other so that we might always be as close as we are this day." His voice faltered, but after a moment, he continued. "I love each and every one of you, and though I can never replace your mother, I will always be here for as long as you need me. That much, I promise you."

They stood closely together in that moment, and as a cloud removed itself from the face of the sun, it was as if they could feel the spirit of their mother smiling upon them, knowing her last request would be honored. As if she too could sense it, little Bella, for that was what they had taken to calling her, opened her striking eyes as the sunlight touched her angelic face. Yes, this family would endure and prosper.

Life after that day, although forever altered, resumed once more. Though both a nanny and a wet nurse had been employed to care for little Annabel Christine de Chagny, she was seldom outside the arms of her father and brothers. Alexander and Frederick moved back to Nice to be closer to their father and sister. Though Erik had insisted it was unnecessary, he secretly relished the opportunity to see them so often. While the twins took up residence once again in the family home, Erik-Philippe, being a good deal older had chosen instead to remain in his own flat nearby, though he visited daily. All three boys adored little Bella, and often Erik found he had to chase them away in order to have his little daughter all to himself. The boys would laughingly protest that he was being shamefully selfish, but they understood the special bond that he shared with this precious daughter that their mother had given him with her life.


	40. In His Father's Footsteps

**A/N:** I love the significance of Erik-Philippe's name, but since this chapter is a conversation between Erik and Erik-Philippe, it made it very awkward to write. It still feels choppy, although I have reworked it countless times. However, what is truly central to this chapter is the relationship between Erik and his eldest son. I hope I am able to get that across, despite the awkwardness of the writing in this chapter. Forgive me.

Ch. 40 – In His Father's Footsteps

After a time, Erik found himself drawn more and more to the conservatory where he felt a relentless desire to play and compose like never before. He hadn't written any music since before Christine had returned to him. He realized now that during his years with Christine, he had lived his music, rather than writing it. Now, however, in her absence, his need for it began to burn inside him once more. After a good deal of thought, he made his decision. One night after dinner he called Erik-Philippe into his study.

Erik-Philippe stepped inside toward his father's desk, and Erik studied his eldest son, standing tall and patient before him. Erik-Philippe had grown to be a remarkable man. He was honorable and good, with a strong sense of what was right and the courage to abide by it. His morals were commendable, his intelligence unquestioned. He was both a gifted musician and an accomplished architect – his success was certain. Rising to stand before his son, Erik began to explain, "Lately, my dear son, I have found that my heart is once again being drawn back to my music. While my architecture has always been a source of great satisfaction to me, I no longer find the comfort and pleasure in it that I once did."

Erik-Philippe was immediately concerned, "Father, are you all right? You aren't ill or..."

Erik raised a hand to reassure him, "No, no my son, I am as well as can be expected without your mother here with me." His voice trailed off and his face clouded momentarily, but he regained his composure and sought his son's eyes as he continued, "Erik-Philippe, I plan to retire soon. Nothing would honor me more than if you were to take over in my place. However, I leave the decision in your hands. I want only that which will make you happy."

Erik-Philippe paused for a moment, taking in his father's words, but when he lifted his face; his usually somber eyes were filled with emotion. He reached out and embraced his father, then extended his hand, which Erik took in his own. "Nothing would honor or please me more, Father. I will not fail you. I only hope I can be worthy of your reputation." He smiled a brilliant smile, his eyes shining. _Christine's eyes_, Erik thought sadly.

Erik placed a hand on his son's shoulder, "Nonsense. In your youth, you have already shown a talent that is destined to surpass my own. You are a good man, Erik-Philippe. Even with all your many talents aside, you could never fail me. I am proud of the man that you are, not simply of what you can do, although you have much to be proud of in that as well." Erik-Philippe's face nearly glowed at the sincere praise from his father, whose good opinion mattered more to him than that of any other man. He knew his praise was not given lightly.

Erik smiled. "I will see to the arrangements right away." Holding his son's eyes, he said quietly, "I have complete faith in you." Erik-Philippe grinned, and impulsively embraced his father once more.

As Erik turned back to the papers awaiting him on his desk, he heard his son clear his throat slightly from the doorway. Erik looked up, "Was there something else you wished to discuss?" In a manner utterly unlike him, Erik-Philippe blushed slightly and seemed suddenly uncertain. Erik raised an eyebrow, wondering what on earth could make his normally reserved son react in such a manner.

Erik-Philippe raised his dark eyes to his father's at last. He said softly, "I've met someone, Father." Erik's eyes widened in surprise. Studying his son, he could clearly see that there was a light to his face, a new softness in his eyes. He wondered now why he hadn't seen it before. He felt suddenly guilty knowing he had been too engrossed in his own pain to inquire as to the reason for his son's recent happiness.

Erik gave his son what he hoped was an encouraging smile. As he spoke, Erik-Philippe began to pace the room, made restless by the obvious intensity of his feelings. "I met her at the University. I saw her again three months ago at a gala for the unveiling of one of the firm's latest projects, and we have been spending time together ever since. She is bright and funny, always laughing – just like Mother."

He stopped his pacing and turned to face his father. "I love her, Father." Erik's face softened at the vulnerability he saw in his strong son. Erik-Philippe continued passionately, "She is not of noble birth, but she is a good woman – caring, intelligent, with a strong faith." He hesitated. "I wish to marry her, but I do not want to do anything to hurt our family or to displease you." He lifted his eyes hesitantly to his father's. "I am asking for your blessing, Father. Will you give it?"

Erik remained motionless. He knew that Erik-Philippe valued his family above all else. He had no doubt that were he to forbid the marriage, Erik-Philippe would accept his decision. Meeting his son's anxious eyes, he asked quietly, "Does this young lady return your love?"

Erik-Philippe smiled shyly. "Yes, sir, she does." He grew serious once again and his voice was gentle. "Father, after the love that I witnessed between you and Mother, do not think for a moment that I would settle for anything less." Deeply moved by his son's words, tears formed in Erik's eyes.

Erik-Philippe hastily added, "Father, if it would be to painful right now, we could wait a while..." Erik stopped him, "No, my dear son, I think a new beginning is just what this household needs. I have had my great love. Now I will take comfort in knowing that you have found yours." His eyes twinkled merrily as he stepped back. "It sounds as if we have a wedding to plan, my dear boy." Erik-Philippe's face relaxed at once and he grinned from ear to ear. Erik laughed at his boyish delight. Erik-Philippe had never appeared boyish, even when he had been but a boy himself.

Erik's smile was genuine, though a trace of sadness lingered in his eyes. He reached out his hand and Erik-Philippe clasped it firmly with both of his own. "Thank you, Father. Thank you!" He turned and hurried from the room in his haste to share his news with his beloved. Erik chuckled and called down the stairs after him, "Bring her by for supper tonight so she can meet all of us, especially your brothers. Then she will have a better idea what she is getting herself into!" Erik-Philippe laughed heartily and called back, "I will!"


	41. An Empty Chair

**A/N:** I like this chapter too – one of my favorite "post-Christine chapters," mainly because of little Bella who will quickly become a central character.

Ch. 41 – An Empty Chair

Supper that night was a joyous affair. From the time Erik-Philippe entered with his new fiancé, everyone in the family seemed enchanted by her. Bridget was lovely with long golden hair and bright blue eyes. Her smile was warm and genuine, and her love for Erik-Philippe was as obvious as his was for her. The de Chagny family seemed to become a little more whole in her presence.

Alexander and Frederick were in attendance, as requested. Their father had given strict orders for the two to be on their best behavior, but it had proved unnecessary as both were so taken with the pretty creature that they wanted desperately to impress her.

Little Bella who was now nearly a year old was dressed in a lovely little dress of burgundy silk, her riot of auburn curls surrounding her angelic cheeks and striking eyes. She toddled around the table reaching up her chubby arms so that she might be held by each family member in turn. When she came to Bridget's chair, Bella regarded her curiously for a moment, as if surprised to find a female at the normally male-dominated table. Then, seeming satisfied, reached her arms up expectantly, obviously deciding that the new member of the family had passed inspection. Bridget laughed gaily and lifted the tiny toddler up onto her lap, where Bella delightedly grasped at her beaded necklace in fascination.

Erik surveyed the scene with content. He had not seen his family this happy since Christine's death. His gaze fell on her empty chair at the other end of table. How she would have liked to meet Erik-Philippe's future bride and share in their happiness! As his eyes clouded, he thought for a moment he could see her there and in his mind, he heard her voice quite clearly, "_Ah, but I am here my love, as I will always be. Look around you. They are happy and safe. You have done well." _He smiled at the sound of her voice, but as suddenly as it had come, it left him once again. The vividness of the memory made his sorrow at its disappearance all the more acute, and he lowered his head so that the jovial group would not see his tears.

Suddenly, he felt a tug on his pant leg, and peering down, he saw angelic blue-gray eyes gazing up at him with concern. No matter how much she adored her brothers, Bella would always be Papa's girl. She seemed to have an uncanny sense of when he was missing her mother, and would invariably show up wanting to be held. Yet somehow it always seemed she was holding him rather than the other way around. Erik smiled and reached down to sweep her into his arms.

Across the table, while the brothers were engaged in a lively argument over various political matters, Bridget watched the pair at the end of the table. Her face softened as observed the special relationship between her extraordinary future father-in-law and little Bella. What a pair they made – he so dark and commanding, and yet so gentle and loving, almost fragile; she small and angelic, yet wise and knowing somehow. Looking around her, Bridget thought again how fortunate she was to have the opportunity to be part of this remarkable family. Her lovely blue eyes met Erik-Philippe's and they exchanged a smile of understanding as he too gazed around at his family. He knew what she was thinking, and he felt the same way.


	42. A Figure from the Past

**A/N:** Ah yes, Helena returns at last. We all knew she couldn't stay away. I know I couldn't. Erik seems to have that effect on women. But how will Erik and his family react to her return? Will there be a new woman at the head of the de Chagny household? Before you give up on me completely, read this chapter _and_ the next, as the two go together. Oh, and I would ask you to remember that Bella has never seen her mother, and while she would certainly have seen photographs, they would have been black-and-white – a beautiful woman with long, curly hair.

Ch. 42 – A Figure from the Past

In the months that followed, Erik-Philippe and Bridget were indeed married. Though Erik had offered a lavish ceremony, the pair chose instead to be married in the gardens behind the de Chagny mansion with only a small group of family and friends in attendance. The honeymoon was short, as Erik-Philippe was anxious to try his hand in running the prosperous family business. As a wedding gift, Erik presented the newlyweds with the gift of Christine's cottage by the sea. The two were very moved by his gesture and Bridget adored the flowerbeds that had been Christine's treasure. Erik was certain Christine would have been pleased.

With Erik-Philippe happy and successful, Erik turned his attention to his other three children in the years that followed. Alexander and Frederick had finished their years with the National Academy of Music and while Alexander was beginning to show signs of settling down, Frederick remained, as ever, a dreamer at heart. When Alexander left to play in the Paris orchestra, Frederick chose instead to travel abroad for a time. While it was difficult for the twins to be separated from each other, both had discovered the need to seek out their own lives. Though the goodbyes were difficult, they knew they would always have their beloved home and family to return to when they were ready. Frederick had the most difficult time in leaving, for he had become very attached to little Bella, who now a big girl of four was the only person in the world allowed to call him "Freddy".

With only Erik and Bella remaining at home, the two were inseparable. He led her around the grounds on her little black pony, whom she had lovingly nicknamed, "Shadow". They took frequent trips to the seashore, where Bella like her eldest brother before her delighted in examining the marine creatures she found in the sand. Unlike Erik-Philippe however, Bella was seldom satisfied to remain on the shore, and instead always insisted that her father roll up his expensive trousers and wade with her into the water. Sometimes Erik would ask the cook to prepare a picnic lunch and they would take it to the park where he would read Bella story books or push her on the swings until finally she would fall asleep on their blanket spread below the tree and he would carry her home for her nap.

On one such day, Erik returned home with a sleeping Bella in his arms. He proceeded up the enormous staircase to Bella's room just across the hall from his own. Looking down, he noticed with a faint smile that Bella's legs were getting longer, reaching now past his waist when he held her against his shoulder. _She will be tall, like me_ he thought. He laid her down on the bed and pulled a light blanket over her sleeping form, pausing to kiss her forehead. An unruly long auburn ringlet lay across her cheek and Erik tucked it gently behind her ear. _Just as I used to do with her mother,_ he thought sadly. He felt the familiar sharp pain of his loss. It had not lessened in the years since Christine's death. Erik stepped out into the hall and closed the door all but a tiny crack so that he could hear Bella when she awoke.

Lost in thought, Erik crossed the hallway to his own room. Once inside, he stepped over to the window, staring out onto the front lawn. Would he always feel this ache in his soul every time he looked at his beautiful daughter? He guessed that he would. It was both a blessing and a curse that she was the image of her mother, with the exception of her eyes. But it was more than that. No matter how much he adored Bella, every time he looked at her, he could not help but remember the beautiful, tragic night of her birth. His eyes wandered over to the bed where Christine's pillow still lay. The scent of lilac still clung faintly to it and he often imagined he could still see the faint imprint of her head in its soft folds. He had guarded it jealously from any servant who might seek to wash the pillowcase or replace it. Erik raked a hand through his hair. He knew it was insanity, but he couldn't bear to part with it. He knew he never would.

His gaze was drawn back to the window, as he noticed the figure of a woman stepping gracefully up the front stairs. He recognized at once the golden curls and regal bearing – Helena.

He smiled. He hadn't seen her since the fateful night of their engagement gala. Though she had given him her blessing to pursue his love for Christine, he could not help but feel regret for the hurt he knew he had caused her. He had attempted to tell her in person of his wedding plans in the week that had followed his engagement to Christine, but when he had arrived at the inn where she'd been staying, the owner explained that Mistress Helena had left suddenly for Italy on family business. He and Christine had received a short note of congratulations following their wedding and a lovely gift, but never in over twenty years since then had she made any attempt to seek him out.

Erik was anxious to see his dear friend despite the awkwardness of the situation. He knew Helena would be kind and gracious no matter what had passed between them before. There was a quickness to his step as he descended the massive staircase that had been absent for some time. He reached the bottom at last and stepped into the foyer. She did not see him at once, for her back was turned to him as she took in the beauty of the grand home around her. Erik could not help but remember someone else who had stood in the very same foyer looking at his home with the same loving admiration. He shook his head to clear it of its memories for a moment and stepped forward. "Helena." He said it softly to alert her to his presence without startling her.

She turned to him then, and he could see in a moment she was as beautiful as ever. Her soft blue eyes stared at him in delight, and her elegant mouth immediately curved into a warm smile. Before he could speak again, he was immediately engulfed in a warm, perfume-scented embrace. Awkwardness was immediately forgotten, and he laughed – something he hadn't done in a very long time. "You always were rather fond of doing that." She laughed in return, "Indeed I was."

They stood regarding each other for a moment. "You look wonderful, Helena," Erik smiled fondly, "as always." Helena's face softened and she raised a hand gently to his cheek, "And you, dear Erik, look wonderful and terrible at the same time." She laughed at the eyebrow he raised in response. "Wonderful because I have missed you and you are as handsome and charming as ever." He made a mock bow. Helena smiled again as he straightened, but her smile this time was sad, "Terrible because I can feel the pain in your eyes as clearly as if it were my own, even after all this time. I was very sorry to hear of Christine's death, Erik." Her voice was soft and sincere.

Erik looked away, the tears springing quickly to his eyes as they always did at the mention of Christine's name. He managed to swallow the lump in his throat and briefly met her eyes, "Thank you, Helena." He was amazed once more by her capacity to forgive and to think of his happiness after the way he had abandoned her at Christine's return. He stepped forward and took her hands in his own, searching her face. "Helena, I am so sorry for the way things ended before. I tried to find you and explain..." Helena stopped him, placing her fingers over his lips. "Erik, there is no need to explain. I know you did not mean for events to happen as they did. That is over and done. All is forgiven." This time, Helena found herself in Erik's embrace. "You are a remarkable woman, dear cousin."

Helena clung to him for a moment and then pulled away gently. She had come merely to convey her condolences in person. At least that had been what she had told herself at the time. It had taken her nearly four years after Christine's death to gather the courage to see him again. She had known it would be difficult, but his freely offered embrace had been too much. It was too bittersweet for words. Now, when he had at last taken her into _his_ arms, it had been as a friend, a cousin. A tear fell down her cheek and she turned her head away. The pain throbbing in her heart told her with certainty that she was not over him yet, even after twenty-four years, and that she never would be. It was hopeless, she knew. It was obvious he would never forget Christine. And yet, for some reason, hope was still the one thing her stubborn heart refused to relinquish.

She took a deep breath and hastily brushed the incriminating tear from her cheek. Composed once more, she smiled brightly and turned to face him. "I will be staying in Nice for the next few weeks, and I thought perhaps we could..." She never finished her sentence, for her eyes were drawn suddenly to a little girl with auburn curls standing at the foot of the stairs clutching a stuffed rabbit. The lovely creature stood staring curiously at the golden lady in the foyer with enormous gray-blue eyes. The eyes turned to Erik, "Papa?"

Erik reached forward and scooped the girl into his arms, nuzzling her tiny perfect nose with his own. "Hello, mon ange, did you sleep well?" The little girl nodded and kissed his cheek. "Papa, who is that lady you were hugging? Is that Mama?"

Helena's heart was torn in two by the combination of the child's innocent words and the look on Erik's face. She remembered suddenly that Christine had died in childbirth and realized that the child in front of her must be around four years old, just the age that baby would be now. _She has never known her mother, except from pictures_ Helena thought sadly. Erik could not yet find his voice; tears filled his eyes. Tears shining in her own as well, she stepped forward to take the little girl's tiny hand in hers, "No, ma chère, I am not your mother." _No matter how much I wish I was, _she thought sadly. "My name is Helena. I am a very good friend of your Papa's. He is a good man. You are very lucky to have him." Bella nodded solemnly, clutching Erik's vest in a protective manner. Helena smiled softly, "And he is obviously very lucky to have you."


	43. Moving On

**A/N:** In this chapter, we see Erik-Philippe act a bit out of character. I would remind you that he is very much like his father – serious and reserved, but also passionate about those he loves. You will also see a tiny hint of the Phantom in Erik-Philippe at one point. No phantomann, he won't kill anybody!

Ch. 43 – Moving On

The next few weeks flew by. Helena visited for supper nearly every night. She met the boys and Bridget, and even Bella had overcome her earlier uncertainty and warmed to Helena's gentle smile. There was much laughter and merriment in her presence. After dessert, the family would retire to the sitting room for coffee. On one such night, Bridget had stayed at home due to a cold and Alexander and Frederick had excused themselves early to attend an orchestra performance. Bella had been tucked into bed, and Erik-Philippe found himself alone with his father and Helena in the sitting room.

The two chatted animatedly, lost in conversation. Erik-Philippe watched their innocent interactions with a trace of a frown upon his face. He was glad to see his father smiling again, and yet he couldn't get over the vague feeling of unease that always accompanied Helena's visits. True she was kind and charming, and he could not fault her behavior in any way, but something in her eyes when she looked at his father stirred a feeling of intense loyalty to his mother. He knew the house would be quiet once again after she left, but inwardly he wished it so. He had always felt his mother and father shared a love that could never be rivaled. Although he knew it was selfish of him, he had no wish for his father to move on, feeling it would diminish the special nature of his parents' relationship somehow.

He excused himself from the room rather abruptly, and stalked out the door. Erik watched him leave in mild surprise and sat staring after him for a moment. He turned back to Helena, his face drawn in concern. "I apologize, Helena. It is not like my son to be rude." He looked down at his wedding band for many moments, turning it around his finger absently. "I think Erik-Philippe fears that his mother is in danger of being replaced."

Helena bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. She would be lying if she said she did not wish that very thing. Through the years she had had countless suitors, but she had rejected each in turn for their one common flaw – they were not the man sitting next to her. Although they had welcomed her at first, she had noticed the warning looks that Erik's children had been directing towards her the past few evenings. But she had hoped that in time they would come to see her not as a threat to their mother's memory, but as someone who made their father smile again and that would surely win them over.

Erik remained next to her lost in thought, still twisting the circle of gold on his left hand. Its remaining presence there taunted her, telling her with certainty that her efforts would ultimately be in vain. She studied his face, searching desperately for some sign of his thoughts. He looked ashamed somehow. Surely Erik did not feel guilty for simply visiting with her in the presence of his family? Helena reached for his hand, but he stood up and moved to the window, staring out into the darkness.

Helena rose as well and stepped behind him. "Erik, you have done nothing wrong. I am your friend and your cousin." Things had been going so well. He seemed genuinely happy in her presence, freed from his mourning, and he was so close to her now... She put her hand on his arm, her heart beating madly. "Is it so wrong that I am here?" she asked softly.

Erik did not answer, nor did he turn to face her. Hesitantly, she continued, "Erik, I know it has been difficult for your family these past few years. I know you loved Christine with all your heart and soul. But if you were to be happy again, would that make your love for her any less?" Still, he did not speak.

She stepped beside him, her heart in her eyes. "Erik, my feelings for you have never changed. My offer still stands. I could be here for you. Bella could have a mother..." her voice wavered. Erik's eyes flashed to her face intently, his expression immediately one of warning. "Bella already has a mother, Helena, a mother who gave up her own life so that her child might live. No one could offer her more than that." She lowered her head in shame. "You have been a dear friend to me, and while I appreciate your friendship and your concern, there is nothing more for you here. I have my family and my memories. I do not need anything more." Helena looked up, despairing in the finality of his words. The firmness with which he had spoken them left no further room for hope.

Seeing the grief on her face, his tone softened. "I am sorry for how you have suffered on my behalf, Helena. I never meant for it to be so." He touched her cheek gently. "But I cannot help that my wife has always and will always have sole possession of my heart. And although I still miss her desperately, in my mind she is always with me and that is enough."

Helena's eyes filled with tears for what she was losing all over again. A tiny voice whispered in her mind, _Can you really lose something that you never really had?_ She wondered if Christine had understood how fortunate she had been to have such rare devotion from such an extraordinary man. Somehow, Helena knew that she had. She forced a brave smile and walked numbly to the doorway. "Goodbye, my dear Erik. I think it is best if I do not return again." Erik nodded, "Goodbye, Helena," he whispered gently. She quickly turned and left the room.

In her haste to leave, Helena did not notice the dark figure she passed in the hallway. When he was certain she was gone, Erik-Philippe stepped from the shadows. After hearing their conversation, he felt some measure of sympathy for the woman who had rushed past him moments before. It was obvious she loved his father very deeply. Still, he was glad she was gone.

Suddenly, Bella flew by him in her nightdress, her bare feet padding on the floor as she came for a second goodnight hug from Papa. As she reached his side, Erik smiled down at her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her face repeatedly until she dissolved into giggles. As Erik-Philippe watched the two of them, he could not help but have a surge of even greater respect for his father.

**A/N: **I fooled you with that chapter title, didn't I? Ha! Ha! I may have done an evil thing with Christine, but I sure as heck am not going to let anyone else have Erik. I have always thought theirs was a "love of a lifetime" kind of thing. Remember Erik's promise when she died, he will love only her until the day that he dies and even after. No, dear Helena will be the only one "moving on" in this fic: moving on down the road. I still like her character a lot, though. And I really can't blame her for never getting over our boy either.


	44. A New Song

**A/N:** In this chapter, time proceeds normally for the first part, and then you will notice that it speeds up significantly toward the end, covering many years in just a few paragraphs. That means of course that Bella is growing up and Erik is getting older. Also, the lyrics you see here are my own so no disclaimers necessary.

Ch. 44 – A New Song

Since Erik had retired from architecture, along with the raising of his children, he had dedicated himself once more to his music. When he and Bella were not on one of their many outings, he spent hours in the conservatory playing and furiously scribbling down notes. Even in his days below the opera house, he had never felt such urgency in his composing. The notes crowded his mind now, screaming to be released. He only felt relief once they were safely written down.

Even when he was working, Bella, now five, preferred to remain with him. She seldom wanted to play with other children or be entertained by her nanny, who although well paid often complained that she had nothing to do since the child was rarely out of her father's sight. Bella would bring her favorite stuffed bunny into the conservatory and sit listening quietly or coloring for hours at a time, never seeming to tire of her father's distracted company. Often, Erik would finish a piece of music late in the night, and upon breaking from the trance-like state he fell into when composing, he would find little Bella snuggled fast asleep on a cushion at his feet, clutching her ragged bunny in her tiny hands.

One particular morning after breakfast, Bella had accompanied him into the conservatory dragging her bunny as usual. He had settled her comfortably in the corner with her story books and dolls and sat down to work at the piano. It was a beautiful spring day, and early morning sunlight poured through the windows, bathing the room in warm golden light. He sat down at the piano bench distractedly, watching the morning sun dancing in Bella's mahogany curls and playing across her face. After a moment, he felt the familiar dawning of inspiration.

Something about her appearance that day brought a melody to his mind, and he began to work it out on the keys, first with single notes, then adding the bass hand, and finally the chords. As he worked, he could hear Bella humming softly along with the music. He smiled, glad that she seemed pleased by the piece for which she had been the inspiration. As he began to become more certain of the accompaniment, he closed his eyes and the words seemed to come to him as if he had always known them. Softly, he began to sing:

_Child of blameless heaven_

_Born of darkness and of light_

_In you all the sin and sorrow of the past have been made right_

_Angel of the daylight_

_Soaring here on fallen earth_

_In you, even wretched demons somehow find rebirth_

_Strength of the mountains_

_In your tiny gentle hand_

_Holding tight the tethers binding God to mortal man_

_Sacrificing all of heaven-_

_Immortality, peace, and God's perfection_

_Down to chaos you have flown_

_To save this man from sin's infection_

_Fly now Angel_

_You are free_

_Your sacrifice lives on in me_

_Soar to heaven _

_Return to light_

_All in you has been made right_

Erik opened his eyes, surprised at how easily the song had come. He started from the beginning wanting to be sure he had it perfected before writing it down. He did not sing this time, yet vaguely it seemed as if he could hear the words perfectly as he played. It was not his voice, however, it was a sweet, golden voice from somewhere beyond him, a voice both gentle and pure. As he played, he attempted to place the sound. It was familiar and yet unlike anything he had ever heard. At first he thought it only in his mind, and then he realized it was coming from inside the room. Continuing to play, his eyes fell on little Bella playing with her dolls in the corner. Her mouth was open, and she was singing along with the piano. In stunned silence, Erik began to play more quietly, watching her and listening in fascination.

Perhaps because of the difficulty of her birth, he had always been especially careful in his treatment of Bella, never wanting to push her to excel as he had with his boys. Now, however, he was ashamed that he had never noticed her exquisite talent. As he continued to listen, he realized at once why Bella's singing was so familiar to him even though he had never heard it before. Her voice was a perfect blend of Christine's and his own – pure and sweet, rich and powerful.

Tears streamed down his cheeks at this realization and he could no longer see to play. At the abrupt end to the music, Bella turned to look at him quizzically. Seeing his tears, she came at once to comfort him as she always did. Erik held her to him tightly and cried into her soft curls. Fearfully, she whispered, "What is wrong, Papa? Does it make you sad when I sing?" Her eyes were wide and concerned, and her lower lip trembled. "I won't sing any more if it makes you sad, Papa."

At this, Erik's heart nearly broke in two. Sweeping her up into his arms he swung her around and then held her up above him so that she could see his face. "No, Bella my angel, I never want you to stop singing. I'm only sorry that I have never asked you to sing for me before now. You have a voice that is a gift, much like your mother's and it would be a sin not to share it." He set her down before him and bent to touch her cheek. "Do you understand?" Bella looked up at him with adoration, pleased at his praise and glad that her Papa was happy again. She nodded solemnly, "Yes, Papa."

Erik spent part of each day that followed that sunlit morning in the conservatory giving Bella her singing lessons. He kept the lessons brief at first, not wanting to push her too hard as he had often done with Christine, but Bella always pleaded for more. She never tired of singing or of the precious time with her Papa. Even though they had always shared a special relationship, through music, they had become even closer.

With every lesson through the years her technique improved and her voice began to blossom, gradually gaining strength and control, then finally reaching and surpassing the enchanted sound of her mother's. And throughout those years after every lesson, Erik would furiously compose late into the night. He knew the reason for his urgency now. He knew the purpose of his inspiration. He only hoped he had time to finish it.

Every night when he stopped his work, he would sink down into his chair by the fire, exhausted by the day's efforts and await his beloved Christine. Sometimes in those hazy moments just between awake and asleep, she would come. He would see her perched lightly on the arm of his chair, or kneeling beside him resting her head against his knee. She had been coming more frequently in the last months, now nearly every night. She would come and they would talk over the events of the day, their boys, their new grandchildren, and always his work with Bella. At last when he was too weary to talk anymore, Christine would kiss him gently on the forehead and whisper, "_Soon, my Angel. Soon you will be able to rest and we will be together once more." _ Then she would disappear and he would sleep at last.

**A/N:** Don't worry, Erik won't truly "rest" for many more chapters.


	45. A Weakness That Cannot Be Overcome

**A/N:** This chapter really centers on the relationship between Erik and Bella. I love Bella. She sweet but tougher than Christine was, and full of passion and energy like her father. (By the way, she is named after my grandmother, Annabel Christine. Although in the story her middle name obviously comes from her mother.) Erik starts to slow down a little bit in this chapter. Unfortunately, he _is _mortal. I imagine Erik would not be one to suffer old age gracefully, and that shows up a bit in this chapter.

Hanakomoon: Thank you! Welcome to the story.

erikfan: Yay! I made someone else cry! Thanks for letting me know. By my count, that makes five of us, including myself that have confessed. I am glad you are still with us.

romancebookworm4ever: Frederick is yours. (Please don't decapitate him.) I promise, as soon as I finish posting this whole thing, I will read your story and review for your unfailing loyalty. And I don't really commit too many character murders in this story, just Erik (kind of in the beginning 'cause everyone thinks he's dead), Raoul, Elsa, and Christine...okay yeah I do. But in my defense, people didn't live very long back in those days and this story has covered a span of about 50 years. _Somebody_ had to die along the way!

Ch. 45 – A Weakness That Cannot Be Overcome

One winter morning, Erik made his way slowly into the conservatory, silently cursing old age. Every bone in his body ached and his legs did not seem to want to obey him. Having been accustomed to good health and a strong body all of his life, the frustrations of aging never failed to annoy him. He had so far succeeded in hiding his recent bouts of frailty from Bella, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they would be too obvious to hide.

Inside, Bella was waiting impatiently for him. Seventeen now, she was blossoming into a stunning beauty. The combination of her shining dark curls, creamy skin, and stunning gray-blue eyes had captured the attention of nearly every available suitor for miles around, though as of yet she had firmly refused them all. Her smile, ever-present was soft and gentle and her eyes blazed with an inner fire, a passion like that of her father. She had his boundless energy as well, and the same impatience for imperfection, which of course included tardiness.

As her father opened the door of the conservatory, she rushed toward him with the impulsiveness of a little girl, "Really father, nine-thirty? How you would have scolded me if I had shown up at such a scandalous hour of the morning for our lessons." The teasing smile faded, as she sensed his weakness. He had been finding it more and more difficult to navigate the large staircase and she suspected that had been the cause of his late arrival. Instantly she regretted her gentle scolding and moved to help him. Her eyes were full of concern as she took in the pale color of his skin and the labored appearance of his movements. He had never seemed to change at all in her eyes, always strong and beautiful, but lately she had begun to notice that he was looking more and more like his age. "Papa, I apologize for my inappropriate jest. It is clear that you are not feeling well this morning. Here, take my arm." Leaning on Bella heavily for support, Erik let her guide him to the piano bench.

Sitting stiffly, he stretched his hands, rubbing his knuckles as if they pained him. Bella took her usual place beside him. She had been unsettled by her father's momentary display of weakness, but was comforted by the thought of the familiar lessons they had always been able to share. "I've already finished my warm-up, Papa." Erik nodded, "From the beginning of the third aria then, dear Bella?" She nodded and cleared her throat as he began the accompaniment. However, her brow wrinkled in confusion as she heard from the piano something she had never heard from her father in all her seventeen years – a string of incorrect notes. Looking down at his long musician's fingers which had always been so graceful and precise, she noticed for the first time how painfully gnarled they had suddenly become, and as they stumbled brokenly through the first bar she noticed that his left hand shook slightly, causing him to clumsily bump keys that were not meant to be played.

Erik stopped playing, staring at his hands as if they had betrayed him. Bella dropped to his side; tears welling as she lovingly kissed his failing hands. Erik looked up at her, his eyes almost frightened as he whispered, "I cannot play." Bella's heart broke at the sight of her strong, powerful Papa finally being confronted by a weakness that he could not overcome. She sat down next to him on the bench, laying her head on his shoulder. "It does not matter, Papa. I know it by heart. Shall I sing it for you?" He nodded, and she softly sang just for him.

Later that night, Bella stopped by her father's study door to say good night. She paused in the doorway when she heard his voice speaking to someone else. Curiously, she peeped inside. She saw him in his chair by the fire but upon surveying the room, saw no one else. Without making a sound she crept into the room and listened to the strange conversation in confusion and growing horror. She clearly heard her Papa's voice speaking as if to the air in front of him, "_Yes, my dear, I know she is ready. I have no doubt of it. Her voice is perfection and she has a mind for music unlike anyone I have ever known." _At this, he paused as if waiting for someone else to speak, and then replied to his silent partner in conversation, "_Darling, I only wish now that I knew that she would be cared for, that she would find love like you and I did. Then I could leave her. I fear that she hangs on to me too tightly, and I cannot stay with her forever. I am so weary, so very, very weary..."_ At this, his voice trailed off.

Bella tiptoed forward, her eyes filled with tears. Kneeling down on the floor before him, she took his hands in her own and looked up at the face she loved so much. In the light of the fire, she could see the familiar faded scars, some long and some short on the right side of the face. It was strange. Although she always knew they were there, she never saw them when she looked at him.

Having dozed off, Erik awoke at the touch of her hands. He smiled wearily, "Hello, my dear, what brings you here at this late hour?" Bella lowered her eyes, "I came to say goodnight and I...I heard you speaking with someone, Papa." She lifted her face and gave him a searching look. "But when I looked in the room, there was no one else here." The worry on her sweet face touched him, but he chuckled softly. "And you immediately assumed your Papa was losing his wits, did you not?" Bella relaxed slightly at his amused reply.

Erik released her hand and reached out to brush a curl back from her face. "My dear, it should come as no great surprise to you to know that I often talk to your mother. You might think me mad, but I tell you that a bond such as the one your mother and I were so fortunate to share cannot be broken by mere death. She is so much a part of me that I can see every curve of her face and I know every thought she would have and every word she would speak for any situation I might describe to her." He leaned his head back in the chair closing his eyes. "Perhaps it is all in my mind. Or perhaps her spirit truly does visit me. I do not know. Either way it is of great comfort to me."

Bella understood. Although she adored her Papa and had never wanted for love or comfort, she had always wished she had known the woman whom her father and brothers had loved so much. A guilty thought, one that had haunted her since the day she had learned how her mother had died, crept into her mind. Suddenly, it seemed important to her to confess it. "Papa?" she spoke hesitantly. Erik opened his eyes and gazed down at her, "Yes, my dear?" She whispered brokenly, "I am so sorry that I took her away from you. I know how much you loved her. I am so sorry, Papa..." She began to sob, years of secret guilt coming to the surface and spilling forth in her tears.

Despite his frailty, Erik leaned down and took her into his arms, stroking her hair and soothing her as if she were a small child at his knee once more. When her sobs began to subside, he spoke softly, his voice once more the rich warm sound that she remembered. "My dear, how could I blame you or be angry with you for something that was God's will?" Lifting her chin so that her eyes met his own, he smiled, "And how can I be angry at God when he merely exchanged one angel for another. I tell you, Bella, I am a very fortunate man. For God saw fit to bless me with two angels - you and your mother. And in His wisdom, he made certain I would never be without one of you to guide and comfort me." Bella smiled tremulously, the guilt that she had held for so long swept away once and for all by his sincere words.

She laid her head in his lap, just as she had done as a little girl. He stroked her head and they sat like that for many moments, both lost in their thoughts. After a time, Bella whispered, "Papa, I don't know what I would do without you." Erik's hand paused in her hair for a moment, and he answered quietly, "When your mother and I knew that she was dying, I said the very same thing to her. I told her that I didn't want to live without her, that I couldn't survive the pain. In her wisdom, she told me the same thing that I will tell you now. You are needed here. Your brothers and your nieces and nephews, they need you. This family will go on long after I am gone. You have a responsibility to them and to your mother and to me to carry it on. Your mother told me that to abandon you all when my own pain became too great would be a sin against God and against my family. I have never forgotten that."

At this, he paused, and his hand began to stroke her head once again. "Little Bella, the greatest honor you can do for me is to live, to be happy and safe, and to always cherish and protect your family." Lifting her head gently, he met her eyes, "Can you promise me that, ma chère? If you can, then when the time comes I will be able to depart from you in peace." Tears formed once again in Bella's eyes at the finality of his words, but she nodded solemnly, "Yes, Papa. I promise."

Satisfied, Erik nodded and spoke once more. "Bella, there are two more things that I must ask you." Bella sat up at once, "Anything, Papa." Erik smiled. "The first has to do with your music. I have told you before that your voice is a gift and it should be shared with the world. Do you want that?" His eyes searched hers, but she did not waver, "Yes, Papa, more than anything in the world." He nodded. "Then it shall be done."

His smile was tender, his eyes gentle as he continued, "The second question is a bit more difficult. I fear for too long you have only had room in your heart for me and for your brothers. While I thank you for your devotion and will treasure your love always, you have more than enough in your heart for another. Will you promise me that you will be open to such a love when the right one comes along?" Bella looked down, averting her eyes. "I fear there will never be anyone that could live up to the greatness of the men that I already love in this family, but if it pleases you, Papa, I will promise to try."

Erik chuckled. "My dear, you make it sound as if it is a terrible chore to fall in love. Let me assure you, that when it is right, it is most effortless. I only want to know that you will not refuse it should it come to you one day." Bella lifted her face, smiling once more at his teasing tone, "Yes, yes Papa. Really! You sound like an old matchmaker. One would think you were trying to marry me off so as to be rid of your elderly spinster daughter at last!" At her mock indignation, Erik laughed heartily. "Indeed! So be off elderly spinster daughter, and let your elderly widower father have his much needed rest." With that he shooed her out the door, and she ran out giggling down the hall to her room.


	46. A Prima Donna is Born

**A/N: **Four more chapters and an epilogue to go!

Ch. 46 – A Prima Donna Is Born

The next day at breakfast, Bella took her usual seat at the table. It was a glorious winter day outside. Snow sparkled on the ground, and silvery frost dusted the tree tops. "Good morning, Papa, did you sleep well?" Bella inquired pleasantly, looking with interest at the fresh croissants set in front of her. Erik looked up from his paper, "Yes, quite well, my dear," he said absently.

He studied her for a moment, and then with a slight frown, he added, "You aren't going to wear that old thing, are you? Surely you have something more suitable." Bella did not take offence. She was accustomed to her father's interest in her clothing. He had always had an eye for beauty, and she knew anything less than perfect always troubled him. She answered him lightly as she buttered a croissant. "Why? Do you not like it? I have newer, of course, but as there was nothing important going on today I didn't think it mattered." Looking up at him curiously, she took a bite. "These are really exquisite. Try one Papa." She reached the basket out to him, but he held his hand out in a gesture of polite refusal. Shrugging, she replaced the basket on the table and reached for the jam.

Erik lifted his paper, pretending to read once again. From behind the paper she heard him mutter, "Apparently an audition for the open position of leading soprano at the Marseille Opera House is 'nothing important' as you say." Bella stopped in mid bite. "So I guess if you want to wear that old rag and stuff yourself with croissants first..." Bella's eyes grew wide. Wiping her hands hurriedly on her napkin, she jumped from the table, knocking her chair over in the process and ran to throw her arms around her father's neck. "Today, Papa? Leading soprano! Really? Do you think I can do it, Papa?" She was jumping up and down and holding onto him so tight he could scarcely breathe.

When at last she calmed enough to realize she was depriving him of oxygen, she loosened her grasp so that he could see the gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you, Papa," she said softly. Erik laughed at her enthusiasm. "In answer to your parade of questions: yes, today; yes, leading soprano; and yes I do without a doubt think you can do it." Clasping her hands he whispered, "You were born for this chance Annabel Christine de Chagny. It is your rightful place. You have only to reach out and take it." He smiled tenderly at her. She smiled back, "Then I shall."

She kissed him quickly on the cheek before dashing out of the dining room. She called back to him on her way up the stairs, "The blue one or the yellow, Papa?" He called back, "The blue one, darling, it brings out your eyes."

An hour later they were in the carriage on the way to Marseilles. After several more hours, they arrived at the opera house there. Though not as grand as the Opera Garnier in Paris, the Marseilles Opera had a distinct reputation for the quality of its opera productions, and with the addition of the Comte de Chagny as a patron, its future had never looked brighter. The opera manager, Monsieur Pierre du Prix had welcomed the Comte's patronage and had been sincerely delighted to grant the Comte's request that his daughter be given the opportunity to audition for the newly available role as lead soprano. Monsieur du Prix had seen the Comte's own work years before and had heard rumors of the remarkable talent of the de Chagny children. Numerous sources claimed that the youngest of the Comte's children, his only daughter, was the greatest jewel of them all – beautiful beyond measure, with the voice of an angel. When father and daughter exited the carriage, he was there to welcome them on the steps of the opera house. He knew at once that the reports of her beauty, at least, were in no way exaggerated.

"Comte de Chagny, it is a pleasure to see you again." He shook Erik's hand firmly with a sincere smile, to which Erik nodded politely. Turning his attention to the young woman before him, he took her hand in his and lightly kissed the back of it. "Vicomtesse, you honor this opera house with your presence," he said softly. He looked up at her and smiled warmly. His gentle brown eyes reminded Bella of her brothers', but his fair complexion and shock of blonde hair were entirely different than the dark men of her family. Bella returned his with a shy smile of her own and thought suddenly that he didn't look much older than she was.

Erik watched this exchange curiously. He was accustomed to the effect Bella invariably had on young men, and Monsieur du Prix had been entirely courteous and respectful. What astonished him was the fact that for the first time to his knowledge anyway, Bella seemed to be returning the young man's regard. Amused, he made a mental note to admit to Christine that she had been right. He need not worry about Bella finding love. It appeared love would find her easily enough on its own.

Erik coughed slightly to remind the two young people of the errand for which they had come and Monsieur du Prix quickly returned to business. "This way, mademoiselle. There is a dressing room where you can freshen up a bit before your audition. Your father tells me that he will be accompanying you." At this, Bella looked with alarm at her father, remembering the last time he had tried to play, but he gave her a look of reassurance and her face relaxed a bit. "Thank you kindly, Monsieur du Prix. If I might ask, what will I be singing?" At this, du Prix and her father exchanged a meaningful look and he replied gently, "I believe you will know it well, mademoiselle. After all, the new opera we will be performing is none other than the work of your father." Bella's eyes widened, "_Voyage dans la Lumière _- It is ready?" Her father smiled, "It is ready for its leading lady, mon ange. Did I not tell you that you were born for this role?" Bella threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. "I will make you so proud, Papa," she whispered, turning quickly toward the dressing room. "Of that I have no doubt, Little Bella," her father replied softly.

Monsieur du Prix guided Erik over to the piano and excused himself to look after one or two small details, while they awaited Bella's return. Erik took the time to acquaint himself with the fine grand piano in the orchestra pit. Sliding onto the bench, Erik ran his hand gently along its curves, caressing it as if it were a lost love. He rubbed his hands together, stretching his fingers with concern on his face. He had been able to calm Bella's doubts about his ability to play; now all he needed was to deal with his own. Closing his eyes, he said a simple silent prayer, "_Lord, I ask that you lend me just one last time the hands you once blessed me with. If you allow me this privilege, for Bella's sake, I will readily relinquish their skill to you for eternity, for they have served me well." _He opened his eyes, staring at the keys before him.

Hearing a soft sound from the stage above him, he saw Bella there watching him. The stage lights fell upon her willowy frame and cascading auburn curls. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. This was where Bella was meant to be. He could see it on her face. She smiled to him and nodded, letting him know she was ready. In the rear of the theatre, Monsieur du Prix entered with several others, most likely other opera members here to listen. Du Prix closed the door silently, and then led them to a number of seats about a third of the way up from the stage.

When all were settled, he nodded to Erik, and Erik began the introduction for the aria that he and Bella had practiced so many times at home in the conservatory. To his relief, his hands as if by magic seemed as supple and limber as ever, and he became lost in the music as always. Bella too closed her eyes and smiled, grateful to hear her father's undeniable musical brilliance even just once more. When it came time for her entrance, she began as her father had taught her – gentle, precise, rounding each note to perfection. Then, she slowly began to build, gradually increasing the richness and smoothness of her voice as if slowly revealing something to her audience. When she reached the credenza, she allowed her voice free reign to soar to the gilded ceiling of the opera house, echoing back to hold her audience spell-bound for moments after her climactic finish.

She opened her eyes and looked down into the orchestra pit. Tears were visible in her father's eyes. Monsieur du Prix and the others sat staring, tears in their own eyes as well. The power of her father's haunting music combined with her celestial voice had moved them all beyond words. Her father smiled his gentle, brilliant smile and whispered, "Brava, Little Bella. You have claimed your place at last." She beamed down at him. Even if she never sang in an opera house again, all the years of practice had been worth it to see that look of pride and joy on her father's face.

For a moment, they saw only each other, but gradually they became aware of the enthusiastic applause from du Prix and the others. Du Prix walked as if in a trance toward the stage, his face filled with wonder. Where he had admired Bella's beauty before, he now stared at her as if she were a heavenly creature, something divine that he dared not touch. His voice filled with emotion, he said softly, "Vicomtesse, that was... breathtaking. I have never heard the equal of your voice in all of my life. If you want the position it is yours."

Bella could not contain a dazzling smile. "Thank you, Monsieur du Prix. Your sincere praise is an honor to me. But please, call me Bella. I do not wish to be known by my title here, just by my family name, Annabel de Chagny." Du Prix nodded. "And please, mademoiselle, call me Pierre. It will indeed be simpler to dispense with such formalities, as we will soon be working so closely with one another." He smiled shyly, and Bella returned his smile sincerely.

That night, Bella insisted that she bring her trunks in and began settling into her new home. As much as he had wanted this opportunity for her, Erik hadn't quite realized she would be leaving. Since Christine's death, Bella had been the one constant comfort and companion of his life. Saying goodbye that night would be very difficult for them both. But seeing the happiness and excitement shining in her eyes was enough for him to know that he had done the right thing.

Standing on the steps at the front of the opera house, she was a vision. Bella was no longer a little girl, he realized suddenly. Somewhere along the way, she had become a strong and determined young woman and now she was starting her own life. For her sake, he tried to stay strong, but somehow it felt almost like he was losing Christine all over again. He stood silently for a moment, unable to say goodbye to this heavenly creature who had been his saving grace for the past seventeen years, just as her mother had been for the previous twenty.

Sensing once more that he needed her comfort, Bella stepped down and wrapped her arms around her father's neck, holding him tightly. She knew what a sacrifice this was for him, and she was determined to make the most of it. Stepping back, she met his eyes. "I will write you Papa, every day. And you will come for the opening. You must promise." Erik nodded slowly, still unable to speak. Bella touched a hand to his still handsome face. "Thank you, Papa. Thank you for teaching me, and for loving me without fail all my life. I love you, Papa, so very much. Do not worry. All will be well here, I can feel it. I think Mother would be pleased with both of us, don't you think, Papa?"

At this, Erik found his voice, "Yes, Little Bella, I think your mother is very pleased with us tonight." Smiling gently, he kissed her forehead. "Goodbye, ma chère. Please don't forget to write, or your brothers will worry." There was a hint of mischief in his eyes now. Bella laughed, "Ah, Papa, you are fooling no one. It is you who will worry. My dear brothers will be glad to be free of my nagging and coddling, but I shall write all of you anyway." Erik stepped into the back seat of his motor car, closing the door and leaning to the window as it pulled away. Looking back he heard her call softly, "Goodbye, Papa. I love you." With tears in his eyes, Erik watched as his second angel faded from sight.


	47. Weary of This Life

**A/N: **Thanks to Jema Moda for all her kind reviews and for pointing out a NASTY typo in this chapter. (ACK! It is too horrible to even comprehend! WHAT WAS I THINKING? NO! NO! NO!) I AM SO SORRY! It has been corrected now. (See reviews if you want to know what the heck I am going on about. I can't bear to type it again.)

Ch. 47 - Weary of This Life

Nearly two months had passed since he had left his beloved Bella on the steps of the Marseille Opera House. True to her word, Bella wrote nearly every day and Erik and the boys lived for her letters.

Erik-Philippe was thirty-five now with three children of his own. Theirs was a happy, loving family, although the little cottage was nearly bursting at the seams with its rapid growth. The architectural firm had prospered under Erik-Philippe's capable hands, just as Erik had predicted, and his son's fame as an architect now rivaled his own.

Alexander had married three years earlier to a gracious, raven-haired beauty named Lizette who possessed a marvelous wit and an eye for fine art much like Alexander's. The two enjoyed each other's company immensely and were expecting their first child later that spring.

Soon after Alexander had become engaged, Frederick had at last seemed to become serious in his search for a wife. His family often joked that it was the legendary competitiveness between the two twins that had driven Frederick to become engaged just six months after his brother, but Frederick had simply countered that he had had so many more female admirers to choose from that the selection had taken more time. His new wife, Gabriela was a passionate, fiery redhead who managed to finally spark some ambition in her dreamer husband, convincing him to begin writing for the local newspaper, as well as to begin on several books of poetry and even a novel.

The boys and their families visited nearly every weekend, but during the weekdays, Erik felt very much alone. His only comforts came in the form of Bella's letters and his nightly visits from Christine. He had never again been able to play the piano after the night of Bella's audition, and his voice was no longer what it once was. As always, Erik could not suffer imperfection, especially in himself, so rather than to subject himself to it, he simply chose not to sing instead.

One stormy night in February, Erik sat before the fire listening to the wind howl outside the window. As he began to doze off, he saw Christine there in front of him. This time, she did not kneel down beside him or sit on the arm of his chair, but chose instead to stand before him, searching his eyes. _"I am here, my darling. And I am worried about you."_ Erik smiled sadly. "My love, I have done all that you have asked. Our family is safe and provided for and all is well, but I grow weary of this life." His eyes filled with tears. "I miss you, Christine. I no longer have Bella or my music to comfort me. My boys are all grown and are occupied with families of their own. I wander this empty house like a wraith. Why can't I come with you tonight, my love? Do you not miss me a little? Do you not want me anymore?" His voice shook and he dropped his face into his hands, weeping bitterly. He felt her soft touch upon his face and could smell the scent of her hair as she knelt down before him and leaned her forehead against his own. Raising his face to meet her eyes, she said softly, _"You and I are bound beyond death, beyond time. I will always want you, my love, but I accept that for a little while longer, our children still need you."_ She touched a hand to his lips when he would have spoken, tenderness in her eyes as she whispered gently, _"No, my love, not tonight, but soon, very soon..."_ As always, she began to disappear, but he threw himself from the chair, trying desperately to hang onto her somehow, to hold her there for one more moment. When his arms met emptiness, he fell to the floor on his knees sobbing bitterly.

Sara, a trusted servant who cared deeply for her master and his family listened to the sound of the Comte's anguished sobs outside the door. Rushing down the stairs she heard him cry out in anguish, "You have asked too much of me, Christine! I cannot do it anymore. Please, please take me with you..." As his voice faded, Sara reached for her cloak and stepped out into the night to fetch young master Erik-Philippe. He would know what to do.

As the early rays of winter sunlight begin to filter into the room, Erik-Philippe knelt down by his father's side on the floor. His eyes filled with tears and fear clutched at his heart as he reached down to find his father's pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief, he felt it at last – faint, but steady. With the help of Gerard, Sara's husband, Erik-Philippe lifted his father onto the bed and helped to make him as comfortable as possible, while Sara went out to send for the doctor.

After a few moments, Erik opened his eyes in surprise to see his eldest son sitting on the corner of his bed wearing a look of intense concern. "Father," Erik-Philippe whispered, "It's alright. I am here and Bridget is downstairs making us some tea. I've sent Sara for the doctor. Alexander and Frederick are on their way. Just rest now, and let us take care of you for a change." Erik-Philippe smiled gently down at him and Erik sighed, closing his eyes once more. _Yes, it is nice to be taken care of_, he thought drowsily and he allowed himself to slip back into the comforting darkness.

An hour later, the doctor had finished his examination, and Erik was still asleep. Closing the door behind him, the doctor looked up into Erik-Philippe's anxious face. "Doctor, please, my father, what is it?" The doctor laid his hand on the young man's shoulder and replied gently, "I believe, good Vicomte that your ever-youthful father is at last succumbing to old age. And unfortunately, dear lad, there is no cure for that." He turned to pull on his coat which had been draped over a chair in the hallway, but after a moment paused thoughtfully, "By my calculations, Erik-Philippe, the Comte must be nearing eighty years old, though somehow he has never seemed it up until now. But there does seem to be something else upsetting him. He was very restless just now, and he kept murmuring your mother's name. She's been gone for nearly eighteen years now, and yet he has never fully recovered, has he?" Erik-Philippe shook his head slowly.

The doctor donned his hat and picked up his bag once more. With a kind smile, he turned back to the young man that he had helped deliver years ago in that very same house. "Erik-Philippe, your father is old. His body is betraying him, and he is alone in an empty house which once held so many loved ones, so much joy and laughter. I think he senses that his time is nearing, and now that his family is grown, perhaps he wishes it so. I don't think he will ever be truly happy again until he can rejoin your mother. A love like your father and mother had for each other is an undeniable blessing, but it often leaves a gaping wound when it is gone that never truly heals. There is no way to mend such a wound, monsieur, I'm afraid." With that, he tipped his hat to Erik-Philippe and headed down the stairs.

Erik-Philippe paused to dry his eyes and regain his composure before entering his father's room. Stepping inside, he walked over by the bed and pulled up a chair. Looking down at the lined face of the strong man he had always tried to be, fresh tears sprung to his eyes. What would they all do without Father? He had been their rock for so long. His quiet guidance and unconditional love had been the driving force for all of his children's ambitions and the infallible net to catch them whenever their plans went awry. It would be hardest for Bella, he reasoned, for she and her father had always shared an extraordinary bond. But right now, all he could think of was his own pain and loss. This man who had always seemed to him immortal, unchanging, forever strong and steady - this man was dying. The doctor had said as much. As the bitter truth of it hit him full force, Erik-Philippe, now a thirty-five-year-old man laid his head on his father's chest and wept like a child.


	48. Let My Opera Begin

**A/N: **I posted 9 chapters yesterday, so I waited with these last two and the epilogue so that everyone had a chance to catch up. I think I posted so many previously because I felt guilty for Christine's untimely demise and I was afraid everyone would be so angry with me they would quite reading.

Once again, this was a difficult chapter to write. I am not Erik, and so I do not deign to believe myself worthy of writing _his_ opera. This was as close as I could get.

phantomann: Let me just say that I have enjoyed your insightful comments throughout the story. I was only teasing when I called you a "suspicious reader". Actually, I was pleased that you were able to pick up on all my subtle little clues along the way, although it made it very difficult to shock you. I hope the ending meets your expectations. I did consciously try to keep the dialogue between the characters consistent with the time period, so I am glad you felt I was successful in my efforts. (Don't you wish in sometimes that people still talked that way?) And yes, I am proud of Erik too for loving one woman completely for all of his life. It is just one more thing that makes him so special. I have enjoyed our dialogue immensely. By the way, if you have a fic, I would love to read it. Your comments have all been so well written, I am certain any fic you attempted would be the same.

romancebookworm4ever: Okay, Frederick is yours in more of a spiritual, metaphorical sense. Really, you are his true love, I'm sure.

Pertie: Honestly I think that is the most humbling review I have received so far. I am so honored. Thank you for staying with me to the bitter end.

MadameOG: Great to hear from you. Wow, what a compliment! And I am sorry I made you cry. Love your screen name.

Ch. 48 – Let My Opera Begin

Finally, March arrived, and with it, the first signs of spring. Though still very weak, Erik was out of bed and moving around the house once more, albeit slowly. He was never quite sure what the doctor had said to everyone when he had been ill, but he definitely noticed a change in his family and staff after his visit. To his great displeasure, they all treated him now as if he were made of glass. The boys visited constantly, and he was seldom without a son, daughter-in-law, or a variety of grandchildren close by. Alexander and Lizette had stopped already that morning with his latest granddaughter, little Erika Elizabeth de Chagny. The staff made an unusual fuss over him. The cook insisted on serving all his favorite meals, Sara and Gerard were nearly insufferable with their attentions, and even his normally ill-tempered elderly chauffer seemed to be unusually concerned with his health, often suggesting he close the windows of his automobile so that he didn't catch a chill.

Erik snorted derisively. He was unused to the attention, and it often made him irritable. He despised being treated as an invalid almost as much as he despised feeling like one. At the same time, he had to admit in some ways it felt good to be so well looked after, and he knew deep down that they only did it because they cared about him. Strange that a man once so alone and cared for by no one, now found himself coddled and doted on by so many.

He noted the suitcase by the door with approval. Just as he had instructed, all was being made ready for his departure later that morning. Tonight was the opening night of "_Voyage dans la Lumière_" and more importantly, tonight was Bella's debut as leading soprano of the Marseilles Opera. He missed her sorely, and knew without a doubt that tonight would be a great triumph and the beginning of a long and illustrious career for her. She had written often to tell him of how much she was learning, of the friends she had made, and of the scandals of life in the opera house which intrigued her. He had to laugh at her righteous indignation. He had no fear that Little Bella would succumb to the temptations of theatre life. She had her mother's strong moral compass and her father's stubbornness; between the two, no one set to lead her astray stood a chance.

She had however, written often of the special admiration she had developed for Monsieur Du Prix, or Pierre as she now called him. She wrote her father of his capable handling of the opera business, something she knew he would appreciate, and of his kindness and respect for the staff. On more than one occasion, he had acquired the idea that Bella had been seeing quite a lot of Du Prix outside of working hours, but that was her life and her business. Du Prix was a good man, and if he had been fortunate enough to win Bella's heart where so many others had failed, so be it. Erik would be grateful to know she would be well cared for after he was gone.

Erik checked the clock in the hallway. If he was to arrive in time to change into his evening clothes he would have to leave shortly. Pulling on his coat and gloves, he donned his hat and moved gingerly down the steps to the awaiting motor car while the driver loaded his suitcase. Knowing he would see Bella performing tonight on the opera stage had put new spring in his step and a smile on his face.

As the carriage pulled away, Erik watched his beloved home fade into the distance. So many years had gone by, so much had happened. Strange now he was heading to the opera debut of his daughter and over fifty years ago he had been witnessing the debut of her mother at the Opera Populaire. That life now seemed worlds away.

As the motor car rattled on, Erik thought about the strange dance that had been his life. For the first thirty-four years of it, all had been darkness - denied his rightful place in his family due to his deformity, years spent in an orphanage, even more years spent traveling with a gypsy caravan through exotic lands filled with mystery and horror, then solace for a time beneath the Opera Populaire. There he had met Christine, and his long journey into the light had begun. From the moment she had entered his life, the curtain of darkness he had always known had gradually been pulled back to reveal the wonders beyond. Christine's kiss, Christine's love had made it possible. Then later, after her death, when he would have crept back into the comfort of that familiar seductive darkness, his children had forced him to move forward, ever closer to God and his salvation.

Yes, _Voyage dans la Lumière_ was his story. He had made the long journey into the light, where he stood now. Long ago, he had taken each child in turn and told them all the story of his past, leaving nothing out. To his great relief and humble gratitude, each and every one had promptly reassured him that the man he had once been and his past sins were of no consequence today, and that he was loved now for the man he had been as long as they could remember. This was his redemption. He was at last bare before his family, every scar and every sin visible, and they loved him anyway. The little abandoned boy with half a face who had been scorned by all for his imperfection had now grown to be a man loved by many in spite of all his imperfections. God had taken his great tragedy and turned it to a great triumph as only He could do. Erik smiled to himself. He and God had reached an understanding now. He had forgiven God for the first thirty years of suffering. And in turn, he had asked for God's forgiveness for the sins of his past. He knew with certainty now that when his time came, he would join Christine in the land of the light forever, and that knowledge as always humbled him and overwhelmed him with gratitude.

As his carriage arrived at the inn, Erik quickly found his room and went inside to change. As always, he washed and dressed carefully. He combed his hair back and pulled on his evening gloves. He straightened his cravat and slipped on his coat. Looking in the mirror with satisfaction, he donned his elegant top hat and pulled on his cloak. Locking the door behind him, he stepped nimbly down the stairway and out the front door to his motor car once more. On the way, Erik stopped at a flower stand, taking time to select only the most perfect blooms. Satisfied, he returned to the car and they continued to the Opera House.

As he stepped out of the car, taking care not to crush the flowers he had purchased, he was met by an enormous surprise. Standing on the steps of the Marseille Opera House was his entire family, all dressed for the occasion. Erik-Philippe and Bridget, Alexander and Lizette, Frederick and Gabriela, and all of his grandchildren, of which there were now six. He smiled at them all, and then looked to Erik-Philippe for an explanation. His eldest son stepped down to meet him, "Father, you are far too modest. We would have come anyway, of course for Bella's debut, but when she wrote to tell us that the opera she would be performing in was your work, we knew we had to be here to celebrate with you."

As he began to understand, Erik surveyed the wonderful group of young people before him and once again marveled at his fortune to have so many that cared for him so much. With tears shining in his eyes, he stepped forward to embrace and thank each one.

When he had kissed the last grandchild's cherubic ringlets, he raised his eyes to see before him a beautiful young woman with long auburn curls dressed in shimmering silver. At first, in the dim light of the street lantern, he could have sworn it was Christine, but as his eyes adjusted he noticed that this figure was slightly taller and the love-filled eyes were blue-gray like his own, instead of chocolate brown. "Bella." he whispered. She seemed to float down the stone steps to him, embracing him tightly.

She had missed him so much. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scent of her father that she had known from her childhood – a mixture of his favorite cologne and of the fine fabric of his clothes. She buried her face in his chest, wanting to never let him go, but at last she drew back. He reached up to touch her face, now covered in special sparkling stage makeup that gave her a slightly other-worldly appearance. There were jewels in her hair, and everywhere her skin had been dusted with a fine glittering powder. The effect when combined with the exquisite silver of her dress was breathtaking.

Erik swallowed hard, his voice filled with emotion, "That dress..." Bella smiled gently. "It was Mother's, yes. I had Erik-Philippe send it to me. As a child I used to sneak into her closet and drag it out just to look at it. It always seemed to me that Mother must have been an angel, for this was surely an angel's dress. I thought it would be perfect for tonight." She reached for his hand, her eyes searching his face. "I hope you don't mind, Father. I thought that this way, a part of her could be with us tonight."

Erik squeezed her hand and whispered, "My dear, she is with you always. Remember, she lives on in you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek, then handed her a bouquet of exquisite white roses. Bella took them reverently in her hands and inhaled their sweet scent. "My first bouquet of flowers as an opera diva," she smiled with adoration at her father and whispered, "I am so glad they came from you."

Bella returned to her dressing room to prepare while the family headed to their seats. As much as he adored his grandchildren, Erik was relieved to know they would not be attending the performance. The nannies had taken them back to the inn for supper and a good night's sleep while the adult's enjoyed a night out in each other's company. Their seats were the best in the house: a private box very near to the stage, compliments of Monsieur Du Prix. The mood in the box was jovial and Erik found he was having a wonderful time long before the curtain opened. It had been so long since they had all had a night out together.

Soon, however, the lights dimmed, and a knot began to form in Erik's throat. Though he knew with certainty that Bella would be wonderful, he also knew she would be nervous, and his own stomach twisted in sympathy. His nerves were also on edge for another reason as well. In this opera, much like _Don Juan Triumphant_ so many years ago, he had laid himself bare before the world. Unlike his previous two operas prior to Christine's return, this opera was personal. It was the story of his life, of his music, of his family. If the audience rejected his work, it would be as if they had rejected him. He felt suddenly naked before a thousand eyes, and wondered in horror if he would be sick. But then the overture began to play, and he was lost in the sound of his work performed to its full glory. If he had looked around to see the faces of the audience and family around him, he would have known immediately that his worries were unnecessary. From the first note, the audience was spell-bound.

As the curtain opened, the stage was swathed in darkness. A shadowy figure emerged, his movements clumsy and grotesque. The music reflected his pain, lamenting his anguish. But from the cursed form, a haunting voice emerged, singing of his loneliness and despair. Then, one by one, others appeared on the stage: spitting upon him, taunting him, kicking him, laughing at him – rejection at his every turn. The dark figure hunched his wretched form into a desperate ball on the stages, his howling sobs of pain and anger echoing throughout the theatre.

The audience was riveted, many with tears in their eyes. Suddenly, at the side of the stage, a tiny light appeared and an ethereal voice, clear and pure could be heard calling to the wretched creature in the darkness. Slowly, he raised his head to the sound, and the audience saw for the first time that which had been the source of his rejection. The creature's face was a mass of distorted flesh.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd at the revelation. Erik winced visibly in his box seat at the audience's reaction, and his hand unconsciously lifted to touch his right cheek, vividly remembering when he himself had been the source of disgust.

But then, as the heavenly voice became clearer and stronger, the audience forgot about the ugliness before them and became conscious only of the beauty of the sound. The figure on the stage seemed to feel the same way, gradually dropping his hands from his face and crouching like a curious animal before the ever brightening light. Suddenly, a silver figure appeared in the center of the beam. The figure shimmered and glowed – a woman entirely celestial in appearance, her divine face filled with compassion for the pitiful creature before her.

The twisted dark figure knelt in awe of her, trembling visibly. Her angelic voice began to call to him once more: beckoning him forward, drawing him from the shadows and encouraging him to join her in the warmth of the light. The figure drew slowly forward, then hesitated, frightened by the unforgiving honesty of the light as it fell upon his twisted face. He drew back and dropped to his knees, unable to find the courage to leave his dark comfort. Seeing his uncertainty, the angel stepped forward from the light to join him in the darkness, as the music reached a deep crescendo.

The spotlight shown dimly down on the pair in the center of the stage, the music

quieting to one gentle violin, as the silver angel knelt beside the dark creature and touched her lips to his marred flesh. The creature's body racked with sobs. The angel then began to sing a song just for him, drawing him up with her until he stood tall alongside her and his voice joined her own, hesitant at first, but then bursting forth with wonder and beauty. The breath of the crowd caught as the two voices intertwined, spiraling together upward to the heavens. And as they sang, gradually, the dark figure began to seem less and less a monster.

As the duet reached its conclusion, the angel began to step backward slowly toward the light. She reached out her hand to the dark figure, and uncertainly he took it, following as she sang to him softly, continuing to love him with her voice, lending to him her courage.

As they drew closer to the light, his hand flew up instinctively to hide his distortion, but the angel reached out and gently lowered it, tilting his chin to the heavens so that his entire being was suddenly bathed in a radiance so blinding that the audience could no longer distinguish the forms of the two contrasting figures. The angel's voice became more and more distant, and the light to gradually dim. When the dark figure turned to face the crowd at last, the audience gasped once more – the horridly disfigured creature now stood tall before them miraculously healed and whole, no longer a monster, but a man. And next to him, clinging tightly to his hand stood a little girl dressed all in silver with the same auburn ringlets as the angel before her.

The man held tightly to the child's tiny hand. All other lights in the theatre dimmed once more and the two stood alone, staring toward the tiny light in the distance to which the angel had returned. Kneeling down beside the little girl, the man softly sang to the child the words that Erik had written so many years ago for Bella on the day he had first heard her sing:

_Child of blameless heaven_

_Born of darkness and of light_

_In you all the sin and sorrow of the past have been made right_

_Angel of the daylight_

_Soaring here on fallen earth_

_In you even wretched demons somehow find rebirth_

_Strength of the mountains_

_In your tiny gentle hand_

_Holding tight the tethers binding God to mortal man_

_Sacrificing all of heaven-_

_Immortality, peace, and God's perfection_

_Down to chaos you have flown_

_To save this man from sin's infection_

Standing now and turning back toward the light from which the angel had come, his voice strong and clear, he continued his face rapt with joy:

_Fly now Angel_

_You are free_

_Your sacrifice lives on in me_

_Soar to heaven _

_Return to light_

_All in you has been made right_

Looking down at the child once more, he sang softly:

_All in you has been made right_

As the two stood alone on stage, the angel's voice could once again be heard clearly. The man bent down and picked up the little girl and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him gently on the cheek. Together, they raised their faces to the ever-growing light. They closed their eyes as the voice from another world lifted them and the audience higher and higher, ending in a joyous triumphant crescendo as the curtains drew closed.


	49. A Great Triumph

romancebookworm4ever: Okay, Frederick is yours in more of a spiritual, metaphorical sense. Really, you are his true love, I'm sure.

Pertie: Honestly I think that is the most humbling review I have received so far. I am so honored. Thank you for staying with me to the bitter end.

MadameOG: Great to hear from you. Wow, what a compliment! And I am sorry I made you cry so much. Love your screen name.

Ch. 49 – A Great Triumph

There was complete silence in the opera house. No one moved or spoke, afraid to break the spell of what they had just witnessed. Nearly a full minute went by without a sound in the packed auditorium. Then suddenly, the applause erupted, rolling forth like thunder. Women and men alike stood dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs, and throwing flowers onto the stage, as the cast appeared on for their curtain call. Special applause was received for the man who had played the dark figure so brilliantly, allowing the audience to share in both his pain and his triumph, but when Bella took the stage, the applause grew tumultuous.

The audience became alive with whispers that they had just witnessed the debut of a great new diva. Flowers rained down on the stage, and Bella stood smiling serenely in the midst of it all. As the crowd continued its adoration, Bella raised her face to her father's box. Erik watched with a lump in his throat as she touched her fingers to her lips and then extended her hand to him in gratitude for all he had done to bring her to this day. His hand shook as he returned her loving gesture.

As the crowd quieted and returned to their seats at last, Bella spoke, her strong voice ringing throughout the theatre. "My dear friends, I thank you humbly for your kind applause, but the man who truly deserves your praise is here tonight, and I would like very much if you would give him the credit that he has deserved for so long. I give you Comte Erik Alexander Frederick de Chagny, my father and teacher, and the brilliant composer of this great work." Once more she extended her hand to him and the audience stood once more in enthusiastic deafening ovation, turning to face the box.

Erik felt stunned as Erik-Philippe and Alexander helped him to his feet. Tears filled his eyes. There had been a time when he had never expected anyone to ever hear his music, let alone know he was its creator. Looking out over the revering crowd, at his beloved daughter standing with such unconcealed love in her eyes, hearing his three sons around him applauding and cheering with pride - it suddenly occurred to Erik that all the events in his life had been leading up to this moment. The darkness and the light, the good and the evil, the pain and the joy had all worked together to end in overwhelming goodness. At that moment, he felt he could not have asked for one more thing from this life. All had indeed been made right.

He bowed humbly to the audience who continued to cheer for sometime before finally making their way to the exits. Two hours later, his family and Monsieur du Prix still sat on the opera stage visiting and laughing together. The triumph of the evening had left them all far too excited for sleep at first, but now the emotional evening had begun to take its toll. One by one, the children said their goodbyes to their father. He embraced each one and kissed them on both cheeks, something he rarely did, but tonight had been a special night, and he felt overcome with gratitude and love.

Erik-Philippe was the last to leave. As he hugged his father tightly, he stepped back, his eyes shining. "I am so very proud of you, Father." Erik was at first rendered speechless by his son's sudden display of emotion, but when he found his voice at last he replied quietly, "To hear that from such a fine man is truly an honor. Thank you, my son." With a nod, Erik-Philippe took Bridget's hand and turned to leave.

Now, only Erik, Bella, and Monsieur Du Prix remained. Erik had noticed that throughout the evening, the two had been very close, talking and laughing together. He had watched how the two seemed to light up in each other's presence and how tenderly the young man treated her. The picture seemed familiar and right somehow. Erik turned to pull on his cloak, and donned his top hat once more.

Before he could say his goodbyes, Monsieur du Prix stepped forward. His voice was quiet, but firm as he stood unwavering before Erik's questioning gaze, "Comte de Chagny, I wonder if I might speak with you a moment before you depart." Erik was weary beyond words from the night's excitement, but he bowed his head slightly in assent. Du Prix seemed suddenly uncertain. His eyes traveled to Bella and his resolve seemed to grow. "Sir, I am in love with your daughter, and I would ask you for the honor of her hand in marriage." He bowed low, and over his head Erik could see Bella nodding vigorously and mouthing the words, "_Yes! Yes! Yes!"_ A smile played across his face at his daughter's excitement.

When the young man straightened, he looked between the father and daughter, somewhat bewildered by their obvious amusement in such a serious moment. But as always, Erik kept his daughter's confidence and replied simply, "Monsieur du Prix, you are a good man, and very dear to my daughter. If you can promise me that you will love her and care for her as she deserves, then you have my blessing. But ultimately, Annabel is her own woman and the choice is hers and hers alone." Relief washed over du Prix's handsome face and grasping Erik's hand, he said sincerely, "I promise you, sir, with all my heart. I will do everything in my power to make her happy..." he paused, turning to Bella, "if she'll have me."

In response, Bella stepped down to him and kissed him soundly. "I accept." Joyful that his proposal had been accepted, du Prix sensed that the father and daughter needed a moment alone. With one last adoring look back toward Bella, he excused himself to see to the business of closing up the theatre for the night.

With his mind at ease now for Bella's future, Erik stepped forward wearily and drew his daughter into his arms. Stroking her hair as he had done when she was a child, he whispered into her ear, "You gave me your soul tonight, Little Bella. Your mother and I are so proud of you. I love you always. Be happy, mon ange." Bella nodded, clinging to her father desperately, though she knew not why. She rested her forehead against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her cheek. That sound had always been of such comfort to her throughout her life, and for some reason she felt she needed to hear it tonight. She sensed somehow that it would be the last time.

Finally, she stepped back, but was somehow unable to release his hand. Erik smiled tenderly down at his youngest child. "Why are you so afraid to let me go tonight, little one?" With tears in her frightened eyes, she clung to him once more and cried softly, "Papa, I love you so much! Please don't leave me."

Without her saying it, he knew at once what she feared. Gently he leaned down and whispered into her ear, "You are happy and safe. All my children are. My life has been so filled with joy and light that my soul is full with it. There is no room for more. I have fulfilled my promise to my family. Now, won't you let me go at last?" He lifted her chin so that her shining eyes met his own. "Your mother is waiting for me, and I have missed her for so long. Please ma chère, when the time comes, let me leave this world with your blessing."

Bella could not bear the pleading tone of his voice. She lowered her head and nodded miserably. He tilted her head down a bit further so he could kiss the crown of her curls as he had done so many times. Lifting her face, she whispered, "I love you, Papa. Thank you so much for everything." As he picked up his cane and turned to leave, she said quietly, "When you see Mama tonight, give her my love and tell her that I regret very much that I never got to hear her sing." Tears filled Erik's eyes and he nodded, unable to speak. He turned and began the long, slow walk up the aisle to the front door. Bella's eyes followed him the entire way, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Later that night back at the inn, Erik sat exhausted in a chair by the fire, still unable to sleep. He was restless somehow, and he knew not why. He leaned his head back against the leather of the chair and closed his eyes. He sat there for many moments, and then opened them slowly to see Christine standing before him. He smiled wearily. "Hello, my love. I thought I might not see you tonight," he said softly, glancing at the clock.

She knelt down beside him and whispered gently, _"Tonight was Bella's great triumph, but it was yours as well."_ Erik smiled slightly closing his eyes once more. "Bella sends her love." Christine gazed lovingly into his aged face, caressing the lines that now marked it at last. _"She has grown up beautifully. You have done well, my husband. You have kept your promise and you have done all that I asked of you and more. Our family will survive and prosper. Our love will be remembered. And you..."_ she took his hand in her own, _"Your story will be remembered as well. Those people in that audience tonight, they will remember."_ She kissed his cheek gently as his breathing slowed.

He was so weary, but how he wished he could stay awake. She never stayed this long and he had so wanted to see her tonight. But he was so tired, so very tired...

Christine laid her head against his knee. She held tightly to his hand and closed her eyes, smiling. She had waited so long for this night. Tonight, she would not leave. She would be there to guide him home with her where he belonged at last.


	50. Epilogue

**A/N:** We have reached the end at last. To those that reviewed, thank you so much for your kind words. It has been so much fun to read them and respond. To those who will be reading this in the future after it is finished, please review as well. As I said at the beginning, this story is my baby and I will be checking on it from time to time. I would love to read any new comments and will still try to respond to any reviews that are made. To all that have read all the way from beginning to end, I am honored that you chose to spend your valuable time doing so. That is truly humbling to me. (And this sucker wasn't short either!) Well hopefully by now we have laughed, we have cried, and now it is time to say goodbye. Do read the Epilogue though: it is the true ending to the story.

Now that I am done posting for a while, I hope that I can have a chance to get back to reading all those great fics out there. I promise to go through and read as many fics belonging to my reviewers as I can and write reviews. It may take me a while to get through them all, though. I hope to try my hand at another fic later down the road, since everyone has responded so well to this one. It may be a while, but I will be back!

Anyway, on with the story! Thank you to you all.

DarkestDreams

BellaSorella: Very cute screen name, sister dear! Thank you so much for putting up with my phantom obsession all the way to the Epilogue. Now THAT is sisterly devotion. And to all you other phans out there – for the record, BellaSorella is a talented little author herself. So let's all pester her to write a fic of her own!

Ch. 50 -Epilogue

The funeral for Comte Erik Alexander Frederick de Chagny was a huge affair. Although Erik had given strict instructions long ago for a small family funeral, this one time his family disobeyed his wishes. At the news of the notoriously private man's death, such an enormous outpouring of public grief had taken place that the family felt obligated to allow those that wished to take part in it. It was strange that a man whose interactions with the human race had been so limited had somehow managed to leave a lasting impression on so many.

His beloved family, which had grown considerably over the years, was of course in attendance, once more dressed in black. This time their grief was just as heavy as before, and in some ways greater. In the years of Christine's absence, the man they were here to honor had been everything to them all.

Erik's coffin was adorned with one single red rose for each member of his immediate family. As a tribute to him, his four children performed the requiem he had written for their mother during the long months following her death. Those in attendance stood in awe at the incredible legacy of talent, beauty, and strength that this remarkable man left behind him.

When the four de Chagny children returned to their seats, Father Dominic, now an old man stepped forward to address the crowd. His words were simple and true. "Erik de Chagny led a unique and complex life. It was not always an easy life, and he would be the first to tell you that he did not lead it perfectly." At this, the four de Chagny children smiled sadly in unison. "But the Erik we knew was a brilliant man. He was a man of many talents, a musical and architectural genius. He was a man of quick wit and humor, as well as a man of great sensitivity and insight. Yes, he was truly a remarkable man. And yet of all the talents he possessed in abundance, the one that he is most known for and of which he possessed in greatest measure was his talent for loving his wife and his family steadfastly throughout their time together. Beneath his sometimes forbidding exterior, Erik possessed an incredible capacity to love. Of all Erik Alexander Frederick de Chagny's legacies, this will truly be his greatest."

The priest paused to look over at the tear-stained faces of the Comte's family. His face was kind as he continued, "We weep today only for our own loss. For we know without a doubt our Erik is with his beloved Christine at last, and he is happy."


End file.
